


Alone Together

by Aluxra



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief mention of homophobia, Human Bunnymund, M/M, brief mention of biphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is just a busker that Aster sees every Saturday, rain or shine, lining his guitar case with change. He doesn't pay much attention to Jack, until one day he does, and it turns out there's more than what meets the eye with Jack. [DISCONTINUED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone Togther

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't going to be a long fic (I hope). Ten chapters maximum, with songs as the titles, and also including the lyrics in some. 
> 
> This is just one of those ideas that wasn't leaving me alone, so here ya go. Enjoy the Jackrabbit. (Actually my very first time writing Jackrabbit, so woohoo to that!)
> 
> Updates will be irregular, but I shall try. This is just fair warning.
> 
> Edit: Stupidly, I have just belatedly realised I haven't credited the song the chapter (and the fic as a whole) is named after. 
> 
> "Alone Together" is the property of Fall Out Boy and Island Records. I claim no ownership over it.

_I don’t know where you’re going,_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home._

_And I said: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead._

_This is the road to ruin, and we’re starting at the end._

 

There was a pattern in Jack’s morning, every Saturday when he stood busking on the street corner across a small coffee shop that Jack had always wanted to see the inside of, its window filled with fresh pastries and plates of cakes. However, he never got closer than the curb edge, staring in wistfully. Instead, the smells of that coffee shop found their way across the road to where he sat and kept him company throughout the day, from the moment he got comfortable on the crumbling brick wall of the raised tree bed, settled under the shadow of the branches, to the moment he packed up and left. All the while people continuously passed him by, faceless in the crowd except for the few that caught his eye.

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever_

_Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs_

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever,_

_We’ll stay young, young, young, young, young._

 

First there was a family with a young girl, always walking hand in hand. The mother was a beautiful woman, wrapped in brightly coloured layers that complimented her wide violet eyes, while the father was a much older guy, who wouldn’t look out of place in a motorcycle gang, with tattoos running up and down his arms. Tattoo’s would always walk between Jack and the girls when they passed by, his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders protectively. Jack didn’t hold it against him; there were a lot of weirdoes in the city, no one could be too careful. Their daughter, naturally inquisitive, would always look around the man’s bulk with wide heterochromatic eyes at Jack, glancing at his bare feet with a frown, silently questioning where his shoes were. He always smiled at her and, more recently, she smiled back shyly.

Next was a serious looking guy with a permanent scowl on his face, and a wardrobe that seemed to lack everything except plain shirts and black slacks. He would pass by Jack to stop in at the coffee shop, buy the same plain black coffee – at least, that’s what Jack imagined he drank – before he would cross the road again and bypass Jack a second time. Jack always wondered if he solely left his house the same time every Saturday morning just to buy a coffee and walk home, like some sort of OCD ritual. He carried himself like someone who had a long military career behind him, and Jack always got a death glare from him that he promptly replied to with a wink or a blown kiss, smiling cheekily as Mr. Military stalked along the side walk in a black mood to match his pitch black hair.

There was Mr Sleepy too: a short, round man who always looked like he was about to nod off, a small, sleepy smile on his face. He would always leave some money in Jack’s open guitar case and offer a small wave which Jack would return, grateful.

And then there was Jack’s guy.

He was tall and tanned, broad shouldered and a little rough around the edges: sexy in a gritty, don’t-fuck-with-me kind of way. It made Jack want to find all his buttons and _push_ , just to see what he’d do, the knowledge that he might come out the other side of that meeting more than a little roughed up sending a thrill down his spine. It was all he’d thought about since the first time he ever saw him, and he’d been blown away, completely drawn to the guy the moment he laid eyes on him through the crowd.

He usually wore an old leather jacket that looked like it had a story or two to tell, and his jeans were always striped with paint, ratty around the hems with a hole at the knee in Jack’s favourite pair – the one’s that hung low on his hips and clung to his ass. He wore a collection of twisted leather and beaded bracelets around one of his wrists, but his fingers were bare of rings – specifically a wedding ring, which Jack had looked for, for weeks after seeing him. His thick, tousled hair had too much grey for a guy his age, which Jack guessed to be in his thirties, and he was constantly pushing it back from where it curled down his forehead into his eyes. His eyes were Jack’s favourite thing, the one thing that always made Jack stare: an amazing emerald green that shone through thick eyelashes, briefly glancing his way before carrying on, every Saturday.

_You cut me off, I lost my track_

_It’s not my fault I’m a maniac,_

_It’s not funny anymore, no it’s not_

_My heart is like a stallion,_

_They love it more when it’s broke in_

_Do you wanna feel beautiful?_

_Do you wanna? Yeah!_

Something changed, though. One cold, wet Saturday in early fall, when rain was brutally lashing down on the gritty pavement and everyone was hurrying along miserably as fast as they could in order to get out of the rain, Jack’s Saturday changed.

_I’m outside the door, invite me in_

_So we can go back and play pretend._

_I’m on deck, yeah I’m up next_

_Tonight I’m high as a private jet_

 

He was shivering, taking a break from playing and was rubbing his hands together in the confines of his hoodie sleeves, trying to warm them up. He had set up as usual, on the same crumbling wall across from the same, brightly lit coffee shop as he had every Saturday and had started to play. The cold bit at his fingers, made it difficult and uncomfortable to pin the metal strings to the neck of the guitar, but he still forced himself to play through the cramping stiffness in them.

The roar of the wind drowned out his voice when he sang, and it was a nightmare to perform, trying to keep his guitar sheltered from the worst of the storm, but hey, people were always a bit more generous when you looked sad and pathetic, standing barefoot out in the rain. Tattoo’s had given him a twenty, and a look of grave concern that just screamed parental instincts, and his daughter had even offered him her bright pink umbrella decorated with hummingbirds. He had declined the umbrella, but had happily accepted the money. Mr Sleepy had left him a cup of coffee and had added to his funds and Mr Military... hadn’t glared at him, so he counted that as a win. His guy hadn’t shown up when he usually did, and that made Jack worry that he wasn’t going to show: it wasn’t that big of a deal, he’d catch him another week, but he looked forward to Saturdays because of his presence. He’d hate to go another week before he saw him again.

The weather had worsened over the day, and his feet had long gone numb. He was pretty much soaked through in nothing but his hoodie and old tatty jeans. However, the day was drawing to a close anyway so there wasn’t really any point in packing up and going anywhere till the end of the day. He had nowhere to go to, anyway. What was the point?

 

_Cause I don’t know where you’re going,_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home._

_And I said: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead._

_This is the road to ruin, and we’re starting at the end._

 

The thought frustrated him, and he pressed his lips together thinly, hunching over himself and refusing to feel sorry for himself. He was out; he could roam free without fear of being followed

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever_

_Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs_

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever,_

_We’ll stay young, young, young, young, young._

Glancing up, he saw his guy among the sea of umbrellas, walking along the road in nothing but his old leather jacket and the jeans with the hole at the knee. He straightened quickly, pulling his guitar around to rest on his lap and began to strum the chords, watching his guy approach out the corner of his eye. The wind carried his voice away, and water dripped into his eyes from his lashes: he blinked them away as he kept singing, his fingertips burning cold against the strings.

_My heart is like a stallion,_

_They love it more when it’s broke in_

_Do you wanna feel beautiful?_

_Do you wanna? Yeah!_

_I’m outside the door, invite me in_

_So we can go back and play pretend._

_I’m on deck, yeah I’m up next_

_Tonight I’m high as a private jet_

His guy noticed him standing there, as he always did, and as usual, his eyes flicked away before he was even within five feet of him. His mouth was set in a hard line, like he was thinking deeply about something rather than just being angry, and his eyes were set steadfastly on the path ahead of him. Jack swallowed, forcing his voice out louder, competing with the wind slamming into his side, trying to knock him off his feet. He didn’t know why it frustrated him so much, but it did, and just as his Saturday always went, he was ignored and his guy walked on.

_Cause I don’t know where you’re going,_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home._

_And I said: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead._

_This is the road to ruin, and we’re starting at the end._

 

He closed his eyes tightly, blocking the world out. He swallowed the lump in his throat and strummed the strings unnecessarily harder as he continued singing. He suddenly realised how tired he was: the rain and the cold sapping his energy reserves relentlessly. The smells from the coffee shop weren’t helping, reminding him of everything he couldn’t have and making his stomach growl. Exhausted, he decided he’d call it a day after this song and screw the consequences: he’d reached his weekly quota yesterday, so there was nothing to get grief about.

‘Say – woah!’ Jack yelped as he opened his eyes, his guy standing in front of him, holding his jacket over Jack’s head to give him some additional shelter. His hands faltered as he stared wide eyed up at the older man, who watched him intently with bright green eyes. He felt his face flush under his gaze, and he swallowed tightly, a shiver running down his spine that probably didn’t have anything to do with the cold anymore. His guy cocked an eyebrow, a small smirk curling the corner of his lips. Jack realised he was probably waiting for Jack to finish the song.

He swallowed, looking down at the guitar in order to find his place again with the chords. A few quick test strums, and he continued, meeting his guy’s gaze once more as he sang for him.

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever_

_Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs_

_Say yeah, let’s be alone together_

_We could stay young forever,_

_We’ll stay young, young, young, young, young._

****

He stood shakily, his legs protesting at their sudden usage but he forced himself to stay upright, closer to his guy than he’d ever been. He didn’t step away, kept his arm with the jacket draped over it elevated above Jack. Jack’s head reeled, and he tried to force his face to stop burning red but it didn’t work. All he could do was keep singing, throwing everything he had behind the words.

_I don’t know where you’re going,_

_But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home._

_And I said: I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead._

_This is the road to ruin, and we’re starting at the end._

 

He strummed the last chord, before dropping his arm to his side. His breath danced in little white puffs of air in front of his face, and he was shivering again. Green eyes looked away from him, towards the coffee shop across the street thoughtfully, before returning to stare at him.

‘C’mon,’ he said hoarsely, like he hadn’t used his voice in a while. He nodded towards the coffee shop again, and Jack didn’t hesitate to pack his guitar away and follow quickly.

 

 

Jack settled on the soft cushions of the booth, purposefully choosing the one directly under the heater near the back of the shop. He rubbed his feet together under the table, trying to get some warmth back into them while he buried his hands in his hoodie pocket. His guitar case was safe on the seat beside him, though the waitresses behind the counter looked happy to see him drip water all over their plush red seats. He didn’t care: he was soaked through but at least he was warm for the time being, and no one was about to try and start anything with him when he had over six foot of pure muscle accompanying him.

Said over six foot of pure muscle was standing at the till, giving Jack a decent view of his ass: while he’d seen it plenty of time before walking away from him, especially in those jeans, he’d never been able to appreciate how it looked with wet denim clinging to it. Needless to say, being in the rain did have some good points.

Jack was still staring when he returned with their coffees and a little stand with a number labelled on it. He cleared his throat, and Jack’s eyes jumped up to meet his. His face flushed at the knowing look that was sent his way, and he quickly wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, pulling it in closer to him and staring down at the gentle curls of steam unfurling from the surface. It gave him something to do, but he could still feel eyes on him.

‘I’m Jack,’ he introduced quietly, taking the initiative.

‘Aster,’ he replied, leaning back in his seat and taking a gulp of coffee.

Jack nodded, committing his name to memory and took a sip from his own cup. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

‘Figured ya wouldn’t have moved unless someone gave ya reason to,’ Aster said, and Jack caught the accent in his voice.

‘No one pays enough attention to try and move me,’ he replied, looking pointedly at Aster. The Australian didn’t miss his unasked question, and he smirked, shaking his head as he took another gulp of coffee.

‘Yeh’ve been trying to get mine,’ he replied, and Jack felt his face begin to burn again. He went to argue, but Aster cut him off with a wave of his hand. The waitress chose that moment to arrive with two portions of soup with a toasted sandwich on the side, retrieving the number label and smiling politely at Aster. Jack knew she’d glare at him if she thought to lower herself to actually acknowledge his existence.

Aster ignored her, pushing a plate closer to Jack and grabbing the salt and pepper, dosing his food liberally with them. Jack stared at his plate warily, despite his growling stomach demanding food. He’d been on the streets long enough to know that while people didn’t mind sparing a few quid for a coffee; there was never such a thing as a free meal. And yeah, he wasn’t being arrogant when he said he knew he was good looking: seems the lack of pigmentation in his skin and hair was a big turn on, coupled with his youth and slim frame.

‘Well, I have your attention,’ he said warily, glancing up at Aster through thick white eyelashes. ‘What do you want in return?’

‘Answers, and truthful ones,’ Aster replied, taking a bite of the sandwich and leaning back in his seat, watching Jack through half lidded eyes.

‘And if I don’t want to?’ Jack asked, knowing he was risking losing a decent meal, but if Aster chose to force the issue if Jack said no, six foot of pure muscle was going to win over five foot nine of skin and bone. He glanced at his guitar case – if he lost that, there _would_ be hell to pay, and he had no idea if he could bolt fast enough with it.

‘I’ll ask them to make your meal to-go and you can walk away,’ Aster replied, jabbing one thumb towards the waitresses behind the counter. Jack narrowed his eyes, wary. Aster rolled his eyes. ‘Food doesn’t come into it – attention means conversation, and that’s it. Conversation is usually guided by questions, so you can return mine.’

‘That’s it?’ Jack asked. Aster nodded.

‘That’s all,’ he replied, watching Jack as he mentally argued with himself. He decided to risk it, and pulled the plate towards him, digging into the hot savoury dish with fervour. He was tearing off the sandwich crusts between his teeth when he clocked Aster’s expression, and he drew away from his food, swallowing his mouthful and wiping his face with the back of his hand.

‘What?’ he asked defensively.

‘Not had a proper meal in a while, then?’ Aster asked. Jack shrugged, looking away. He ate alright, he got what he needed. Sure it wasn’t like he was on three square meals a day but he survived.

‘Not got anywhere else to be on a Saturday either?’ he continued. ‘Standing out there busking sun up till sun down?’

‘Nope,’ Jack replied, shaking his head. He started eating again, more slowly this time. ‘That’s my Saturday spot.’

‘And Monday to Friday?’

Jack sat back, ticking the list off his fingers. ‘Monday is outside Central Library, Tuesday is down at the train station, Wednesday and Thursday are over at the park gates, and Friday is the town square. Sunday is free.’

‘You don’t go to school, or have a job?’ Aster asked, concerned. Jack shook his head, a cocky grin on his face.

‘Nah, too much of a free spirit,’ he replied. ‘Go where the wind takes me, you know?’

Aster raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ‘Which constitutes the central library, the train station, the park and the town square? And the corner over the road? That’s the extent of your “freedom”, week in, week out?’

Jack bit his tongue, his hands curling loosely into fists as Aster’s words struck a nerve in him. What the fuck would he know about Jack, anyway? He glanced his way once every Saturday before forgetting about him and carrying on with his life. Now because he decided to take pity on him because of the damn rain, he had the right to pick at Jack’s life like he had any say in the matter?

Fuck him.

Actually, poor choice of words: Jack’s eyes dropped to the wet t-shirt still clinging to his chest like a second skin, leaving little to nothing to the imagination. It had an uncomfortable affect on Jack, and that just made him angrier – why the hell did he have to get riled up over this jerk?

‘It’s more freedom than some can get,’ he snapped, pushing the plate away and standing up. He slid out of the booth, standing over Aster, who watched him calmly, unfazed by his anger. ‘So you don’t get to tell me my freedom isn’t enough.’

He strode past Aster only to have a hand close around his wrist lightly, stopping him in his tracks.

‘So much for me being free to walk away,’ he hissed. He was aware of some of the other customers slyly trying to listen into their conversation, waitresses and waiters keeping an eye on them in case they caused any trouble. He looked back at Aster, then down at the hand wrapped around his wrist, glaring at it.

‘You are free to walk away. And yer free to stay as well, since ya had no intention of leaving without your guitar because, as usual, you just wanted to see what I’d do,’ he explained, meeting Jack’s eyes. ‘Now that yeh’ve found that out, what do you want to do now?’

Jack was silent for a moment or two, glaring down at their hands. His heart was hammering in his chest, he knew Aster could probably feel the pounding rush at his pulse point and hoped he mistook it for only anger. He yanked his arm back lightly, only meaning to test Aster’s grip but the man released him instantly, sliding both his hands into his jean pockets. He stared ahead, at the spot where Jack had been sitting, waiting for the white haired teenager to move one way or the other. After a brief internal debate, Jack settled back in his seat, folding his arms across the surface of the table. What Aster said had been true – Jack liked pushing people, testing them to see what would happen. It had gotten him into countless scrapes over the years, some bad, some really bad, and he hadn’t been able to talk his way out of all of them, or run fast enough. Jack had wanted to see what Aster would do, and Aster had played along to what Jack had been expecting. Figures Jack would take interest in a smart jerk.

‘I’m sorry I judged yer freedom, or whatever,’ Aster said.

‘What do you mean, “as usual”?’ Jack asked, uncomfortable with being apologised to. Aster snorted, shaking his head.

‘Enough of the bullshit, mate,’ he replied bluntly. ‘Those songs, every time I walk past – I know you were playing them for me, figuring you’d get a reaction eventually: now you got one. You went to walk out here without yer guitar, figuring I’d stop you or come after you. So yeah, _as usual_ , yeh were trying to get a rise outta me. _Why_?’

The question hung in the air between them, Jack keeping his mouth firmly shut. He didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or stubbornness, but he wasn’t prepared to answer without knowing what Aster’s reaction would actually be. What was Jack meant to say? In truth, he hadn’t even thought that far ahead: he didn’t know what to do now that Aster was sitting across the table from him, his focus solely on the raggedy teenager he’d picked up on the street corner. Jack hadn’t even considered what would happen if he’d reacted badly to the songs, since Aster didn’t really come across as the type to swing that way. He just had a habit of always pushing people too far, trying to find the point when they snapped, when he would be able to get a reaction from them. He had _wanted_ to push Aster, got a thrill out of imagining what he would do: however, now that he had pushed him, the unknowing of what he _could_ do to Jack terrified him.

The Australian sighed, sliding down in his seat till he was comfortable.

‘All talk when you got someone else’s words to hide behind,’ he muttered, letting his head fall back against the cushion behind him. Jack frowned, scratching the back of his head embarrassedly.

‘Do you want to come back to my place?’ Aster asked quietly, Jack almost thought he’d misheard him. His head snapped up, staring at Aster wide eyed. His face flushed again – fuck sake, get a grip Jack – at the simplicity of Aster’s question, and when he looked at Jack with bright chips of emerald through half lidded eyes, it stopped Jack from forming proper words momentarily, his voice catching in his throat.

‘I thought you were going to ask if I wanted us to be alone together,’ he said cheekily, finally composing himself and hiding behind light hearted humour. Aster stared deadpan at him in response.

‘No, because I’m not that fucking cheesy,’ he replied. He said it with a small smile though, and Jack returned it hesitantly, chuckling quietly.

‘Um... yeah,’ he agreed, nodding. Aster nodded, pointing to Jack’s half finished meal.

‘Finish off as much as you want,’ he said and Jack complied, the rest of the meal eaten in a comfortable quiet.

 

 

Just their luck, it was still raining when they left the coffee shop: in fact, Jack was sure it was heavier than before, and that there was a faint rumble of thunder in the distance even though Aster swore he couldn’t hear it as they dashed down the street. It took them a couple of blocks to get to where Aster lived – an impressive white stone block of flats, with heavy wooden double doors as an entrance that were flanked by carved stone columns and the name of the block engraved above the doorway. There were signs of age all over it, but Jack thought it looked regal. Aster said something along the lines of “fucking pretentious” as he dug through his pockets, searching for his keys. Jack stood further down the front steps, clutching his guitar case in one hand and wrapping his free arm around his middle, trying not to shiver too noticeably. Aster swore loudly, his hands pausing at his sides.

‘What?’ Jack asked, teeth chattering. He _definitely_ heard a roll of thunder that time.

‘I forgot my keys,’ Aster said, jumping down the steps to stand beside Jack.

‘How do you forget your keys? You just leave your front door unlocked?’ Jack asked, incredulous. Aster gave him an exasperated look.

‘Does this honestly look like a neighbourhood where you’d get robbed?’

‘Well, I don’t know. How many of your neighbours know you leave your door unlocked?’

Aster sighed, shaking water from his hair and looked around, thinking before nodding his head in the direction of the alleyway next to the building. ‘Come on, mate.’

He leapt down the steps, and Jack followed, chasing him round the back of the building where the bins resided, along with the fire escape clinging to the wall all the way to the roof. Before Jack could question what Aster was about to do, the Australian had already scrambled on top of the massive bins, slipping and sliding on the plastic lid as he stood up, gaining his balance.

‘Oh my god, what’re you doing? Don’t die!’ Jack laughed, watching him. Aster winked at him.

‘If I do, I bequeath all my belongings to you,’ he replied.

‘What the neighbours haven’t stolen.’

‘Shut up, smartass,’ he grinned. He leapt up, grabbing the metal rung of the fire escape and yanked it down, releasing the catch and allowing gravity to pull it down. He smiled down at Jack, beckoning him up. ‘Come on.’

Jack followed him, the initial ascent up the ladder awkward because of his guitar, but once they were climbing up the zig-zag metal steps, it was easy to keep up with Aster – sometimes Jack would grab hold of his belt loops, or his arm and let himself be led up, higher and higher. He didn’t realise how far up Aster lived until they had reached the very top apartment, breathless and shivering and drenched from head to toe. It barely took any time to jimmy the window open, and Aster clamoured inside first. Jack passed his guitar through to him before following; hopping onto the floor and turning to slide the window back down, he shook himself like a dog would before looking around Aster’s home.

It was a large, spacious open plan loft apartment: the living room and kitchen separated only by a single step between the two areas of floor space, and a spiralling metal staircase wound its way up to the balcony that jutted out far over the room, held up by intricately designed pillars. Jack could see it led to the bedroom, bookshelves lining the walls and the rumpled bed sheets half-falling off the bed. There was a door hanging ajar on the far wall, likely leading to the bathroom.

There was only one door on the lower level: the main door, which Asters was currently sticking the keys into. At the far end of the apartment on the other side, taking up much more space than the living room area, were stacks of canvases and easels, large half finished paintings draped in white linen. Sets of drawers and tables littered with curled up paint tubes and palettes and brushes and sketchpads stood like sentries among the organised chaos. There were no pictures on the wall, no photos framed on the bookshelves or coffee table. Nothing personal that gave Jack any indication of Aster’s life apart from what he did for a living. He set the guitar beside the window, and wandered further into the apartment, taking in the luxury of the place, despite the scarcity in decorations.

He was pulled out of his musings by a towel hitting him in the face, and he clutched at it before it fell to the floor, looping it round his shoulders and scrubbing his hair with it. Aster had a similar towel hanging from his neck, his jacket and shirt having mysteriously vanished and leaving him half naked for Jack to stare at.

And Jack stared.

Aster caught him looking, and smiled crookedly, closing the space between them till he stood right in front of Jack. ‘Got somewhere ya need ta be tonight?’

‘No,’ Jack said, after a moment’s hesitation. He was known for disappearing for a while, usually when he was scouting out new scores, but that hadn’t been an option for a while so he wasn’t sure what the reception would be like when he got back. He pushed the thought out of his mind, instead focusing on the smooth expanse of tanned skin before him, the solidity of his pectorals and his corrugated abdomen. The crest of his pelvis curved down on both sides into a narrow V that disappeared under the waistline of the jeans that hung low on his hips – so low they should’ve exposed his underwear, which he seemed to be distinctly lacking. Jack reached out with one hand, his fingers lightly tracing the thick, dark happy trail up to the ridges of his abdomen, watching the way the muscles moved with every even breath Aster drew.

Aster inhaled sharply, drawing his stomach in, away from Jack’s touch and he smiled apologetically. ‘Cold.’

‘Sorry,’ Jack muttered, pulling his hand back and rubbing it. Aster reached out and clasped his hands in his own, covering them completely. The simplicity of the action sent tingles through Jack, and they stood there in silence, staring at each other as they essentially held hands. It brought a giggle up Jack’s throat, and Aster stared at him questioningly. He shook his head, unable to explain.

‘C’mon,’ Aster said, taking his hand again and guiding him to the stairs that led up to the bedroom. Jack followed, heart thumping against his ribcage in anticipation, the metal steps freezing beneath his feet compared to the comfortable temperature throughout the rest of the apartment. His hoodie and jeans still clung to him uncomfortably, but all he could think about was how they’d be off soon. Aster didn’t seem to care that they were still dripping on his floor as he turned to face Jack again, threading his fingers through his and pulling him closer.

‘You alright, mate?’ he asked, and Jack nodded, confused by the question. Why would Aster ask that right now?

‘Alright,’ he simply said, and gripped Jack’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his head back until they were staring at each other eye to eye. Jack’s heart jumped in his chest, a fine shiver crawling down his spine that he pretended was because of the cold and not because of the intensity in those bright green eyes. Aster closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against Jack’s, closed mouth and chaste.

His stubble scratched at Jack’s skin, bristly, but his mouth was soft and warm and Jack leaned into it, reaching up with his free hand to wrap around the back of Aster’s neck, stroking the soft curls at the nape, and pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, open mouthed and they shifted and moved in response to each other’s actions, quickly becoming indecent and messy. Aster released Jack’s hand and jaw, dropping his hands down to pull at the hem of Jack’s hoodie, grabbing it and the t-shirt underneath, yanking them up his body until they had to part to get it off Jack.

Jack didn’t hesitate to close the gap between them again, running the tip of his tongue over Aster’s bottom lip and slid into his mouth. Aster reciprocated eagerly, his fingers threading through Jack’s hair and gripping it tightly, pulling his head back till he moaned, his neck instantly beginning to ache from the angle it was held at. Aster didn’t let go, controlling the kiss as he slanted his mouth against Jack’s, teeth and tongue scraping and licking and Jack let him, arching up to press his bare chest against Aster’s as if he couldn’t bear to have any distance between them. He pushed at him, wordlessly asking him to move and he acquiesced, pulling Jack along with him till the back of his legs hit the mattress and he sank down, breaking the kiss and releasing his grip on Jack’s hair.

The pressure on his neck and head abated, and Jack quickly realised he missed it: he wanted to be held in place. The thought made his breath stutter, but they were both breathless, and he hoped Aster hadn’t noticed despite how intensely he was watching him. He had had people watch him before, scrutinising his every move and assessing him, but he’d never been looked at the way Aster looked at him. Thinking about the people who used to stare at him, he was kind of grateful for that.

Aster demanded his attention again, his hands slid down Jack’s back, over the curve of his ass to grip the back of his thighs, his fingers pressing and kneading the soft flesh beneath the wet denim. Jack shivered, bracing his hands against Aster’s shoulders as his legs suddenly felt unstable.

‘You okay?’ he repeated, breathless and Jack nodded again, unsure if he would be able to speak intelligibly enough to be understood. Aster tightened his grip on the back of his thighs, pulling him down till he straddled his lap. His arms wrapped around his slim body, pinning him to his chest and it sent a thrill through Jack. He kissed Aster again, grinding his hips down, the wet denim catching and scraping against their bodies, and Jack could feel Aster was half hard. He rolled his hips again, and felt a surge of triumph when Aster hummed in approval.

‘Grab my hair again,’ he breathed against the Australian’s lips, before he lost his nerve and he felt Aster grin wickedly into the kiss. His fingers twisted in Jack’s hair, and _yanked_.

Jack cried out, his long, pale neck exposed to Aster, and he dug his fingernails into the skin on Aster’s shoulders as he licked a hot, wet stripe up Jack’s neck, mouthing the skin wetly at his pulse point before making his way lower, making Jack gasp. The teenager bit his lip to try and quiet himself as Aster kissed down his neck, along his collar bone, nipping and licking at the skin down the centre of his chest till he couldn’t go any further and retraced his path back up Jack’s body. He locked his arm around Jack’s waist, and suddenly he couldn’t move, didn’t have enough freedom to shift against Aster. He whined wordlessly, trapped.

‘Easy, mate,’ Aster soothed, his breath tickling his skin. He adjusted himself under Jack, and rolled them so he was above Jack, and he pulled at Jack’s hair, lowering his head till they were staring at each other, so close they breathed in one another’s air.

‘I’m okay,’ Jack whispered before Aster could ask, and Aster just nodded, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth telling Jack he knew what he had been thinking. He lowered himself onto Jack and kissed him again, slow and lazy, like they had forever to do this. They only had a night, though, and Jack was hard and impatient: the weight of Aster on top of him, settled between his legs, made him burn with the need for more _._ He wrapped his legs around Aster’s hips, hooking his ankles together and pulling Aster closer eagerly, and they both moaned, discomfort colouring their pleasure. Wet denim chafed.

‘Oops,’ Jack said, wincing and Aster just smiled, pulling back and reaching for Jack’s jeans. He unfastened them quickly, grabbing them at his hips and pulling them down his legs, taking his boxers with them. Jack rolled his hips up, helping him get them off, the wet material clinging to his skin and not wanting to be removed. They were off, though, and Aster tossed them over his shoulder so they landed with a wet slap on the floor near the top of the stairs. A shiver danced through Jack, exposed underneath Aster. He watched with hooded eyes as Aster slid out of his own jeans, his cock erect – long and thick - and beading pre-come at the slit.

Jack licked his lips, his throat dry and Aster was suddenly back over him, boxing him in with his arms either side of his head, skin against skin from head to toe as they kissed, hungry and wet. Jack arched up against Aster, his nerves electrified and his skin on fire as their dicks rubbed against each other, sending waves of pleasure racing up his spine and soft trembles through his limbs. Aster broke away suddenly, stretching over the side of his bed to scramble in the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a condom and a sachet of lube and dropped them beside Jack’s head.

‘Yeah, I’m so okay,’ Jack repeated breathlessly, anticipation feeding his arousal. Aster chuckled, pulling back to rip open the condom and slide it on, the packet of lube more than enough to generously coat his cock and his fingers. Jack shifted, spreading his legs without being asked and wrapped his cool fingers around his dick, only to have Aster bat his hand away, wrapping his hand around Jack’s wrist and pin it above his head. He keened, embarrassingly high pitched, raising his free arm to rest beside the trapped one. ‘ _Really_ okay with this.’

‘Good to hear,’ Aster said, grabbing both wrists in one hand as he slipped one finger against Jack, before sliding in to the knuckle. Jack gasped, eyes fluttering at the sensation. He wasn’t a virgin, but it had been one hell of a long time since he did this, and he was more turned on than he’d been for as long as he could remember. Something about being held down did that for him, not that he’d risk letting that become public knowledge any time soon.

The initial dull burn eased as Aster continued to work, giving him other things to focus on, like his mouth sucking at his collarbone, his hand tightening his grip on his wrists. He added a second finger, and Jack hummed with pleasure, his cock straining with arousal, leaking pre-come down the shaft. He felt the tension in his abdomen tighten, edging slowly towards the release he knew was coming.

‘Aster,’ he bit out, arching off the bed when he felt Aster finger’s just brush against something good and he whined. ‘Fuck, you better do something else quick.’

‘Thought you didn’t have anywhere else to be tonight?’ Aster teased, and Jack glared at him, the heat in it lost in it when his face was flushed bright red, eyes blown wide with arousal, his gasps short and stuttering, unable to draw a full breath.

‘Alright, alright,’ he said, withdrawing his fingers and gripping Jack’s hip, shifting till he lined himself up comfortably and paused, looking up at Jack with those bright, intense green eyes. ‘Alright?’

‘Ask me after you’re inside me,’ Jack gritted out, and he jerked his arms against Aster’s grip, crying out loudly as he thrust in, sliding in half way before Jack could even register the fireworks rocketing up his spine. ‘Jesus holy fuck. _Fuck_.’

‘Jack?’

‘I’m okay!’ he said quickly, in case Aster suddenly got any bright ideas about stopping. Who knew he was a bit of a size queen? ‘I’m okay. Keep going. Keep going, _please_.’

‘Don’t have ta tell me twice,’ Aster hummed, edging his way in slowly while Jack gasped and shifted beneath him, rolling his arms in his grip and wrapping his legs tightly around his hips, just to try to stop their shaking. He was filled to the point where he thought he couldn’t take anymore, was about to say when Aster stopped, flush up against Jack and fully sheathed in his smaller body. He choked out a moan when Aster lowered his body down to press against Jack’s, giving him something to rub against and Aster tightened his grip on his hip, beginning to roll his own in a slow, drawn out rhythm, letting Jack get used to the feeling of him inside him, the burn and the stretch and the heat.

Jack loved it, bright lights flashing in front of his eyes every time Aster thrust in, rolling his hips up for the gorgeous friction against his cock of skin on skin, moaning and panting as Aster shifted them for a better angle, sliding in deeper with one steady thrust. Just as he started gentle and slow, Jack’s pleas and gasps and moans fuelled him into a stronger, rougher rhythm, his thrusts alternating between hard and deep and shallow and sharp. It sent Jack into a frenzy as his nerves were a mess of mixed up signals, unable to catch his rhythm, unable to match him: all he could do was let him move at his own pace, begging for more, for release.

He twisted his wrists in Aster’s grip, just to make him tighten his hold and threw his head back with a whine, cutting off half way through into a gasp when Aster latched onto it with his lips and tongue, marking Jack black and blue and _oh shit, how was he going to explain that?_ Then Aster thrust particularly hard, and it hit him just right, and he screamed in pleasure, his ears hearing his own, wrecked voice begging “ _please, please, more,”_ and Aster’s grunts and moans as he complied, his fingers bruising on his hips and pulling him closer, as if they could possibly get any closer. Aster kept the same erratic rhythm, aiming for the same spot that made Jack cry out noisily, cursing and pleading between his breathless moans and half-gasp, half-screams.

‘Aster, Aster, _fuck,_ ’ he breathed, his erection swollen and rigid, dragging across Aster’s stomach with each hard thrust, stimulating him to the brink of ecstasy until something inside him snapped, overwhelming him till he needed it out, it was too much, too hot, too intense. It blanked his vision in white and he heard himself cry out, his body arching tautly like a bow into Aster’s as streaks of warm, sticky white painted their chest in splatters. His whole body tensed, and Aster swore at the feeling of Jack tighten around him and he dropped his head against Jack’s chest, driving into Jack as he rode out his own release, milking Jack of his.

They huffed tiredly, lying in silence in the moments that followed. Jack went limp; his legs dropping away from around Aster’s hips and sprawled lazily across the sheets, faint post-orgasmic tremors travelling down them, like his nerves hadn’t completely registered the stimulation had stopped. Aster released his wrists, burying his hands into the sheets and looping around Jack’s waist, hugging him. Jack kept his arms where they had been pinned, wanting a few moments extra of the delicious feeling of restraint before he drifted down from his orgasmic high, and he let them drop against Aster’s shoulders, rubbing small circles across the heated skin instinctively.

They remained that way a few minutes more, before Aster pressed his palms against the bed and pushed himself up, sliding out of Jack carefully and getting rid of the condom into the trashcan that was already half full with crumpled bits of paper, fast food wrappers and empty water bottles. Jack hummed lowly, the emptiness filling him where Aster had been, and he preferred Aster.

He had disappeared into the bathroom off to the side, and Jack felt his eyelids droop tiredly. He forgot how exhausting sex could be, as much as he hated to think he wouldn’t be getting anything that good in some time. He heard the water running, and Aster came back with a glass in one hand and a towel in the other, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the glass out for Jack to take. Jack struggled into something the resembled a sitting position, wincing at the residual ache a good fuck left and couldn’t bring himself to care. He took the glass from Aster, and sipped it carefully while Aster busied himself cleaning the semen from Jack’s body, before wiping his own down.

‘How was it?’ he asked, and Jack smirked, swallowing a laugh.

‘You don’t seem the insecure type to ask how good you are,’ he said, and Aster looked at him, his bright green eyes burning. Jack swallowed, his face flushing under that stare. Aster reached for his hand, the one that wasn’t holding the glass of water, and held it up to Jack’s eye level, showing him the bright red mark around his wrist – unlikely to bruise, but he might still be feeling the reminder of its treatment tomorrow.

‘I meant that,’ Aster explained softly. ‘Was that okay for you?’

‘I – yeah,’ Jack stuttered out, pulling his hand back and laying it on his lap. ‘I liked it. The hair pulling, too, but uh, you might want to limit the bite marks. At least, maybe to less obvious places.’

He tapped his neck, where a purple-blue blotch stood out starkly against his pale skin. Aster nodded, and didn’t say anything else, just watched him as he drained the glass of water, taking it back through to the bathroom and filling it again. He drained the glass himself, and set it on the countertop before heading back into his bedroom. Instead of returning to bed though, he picked up all of their clothes – still sopping wet, and headed downstairs with them. Jack heard the tumble dryer get switched on, and he raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t been expecting that development. It also meant he couldn’t exactly go anywhere, and he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. It felt nice, knowing Aster wanted him there, at least for the night like he’d implied.

He heard the Australian loping back up the stairs, and was slightly jealous about his blatant self confidence in his body that he could just happily wander around naked – especially in front of all the windows. He stifled a laugh, grinning as Aster crawled into bed, pulling and rearranging the covers over them and pressed a tub of something into Jack’s hand – arnica cream, for the bruise.

‘So, I guess you don’t want to go another round?’ he asked, turning the tub over in his hands as Aster manhandled him till his back was pressed flushed against his chest, his legs curling up under Jack’s and his arms wrapped solidly around Jack’s waist.

‘Why d’ya think that?’ he asked tiredly, his hands slipping down his body till they rested at the juncture between Jack’s thighs and groin, making Jack inhale sharply.

‘Cause I’ll smell like a pharmacy, so unless you have some sort of weird medical kink, I can’t imagine you’d want to go a second round,’ Jack explained, uncapping the lid and swiping some out on the tip of his index finger, rubbing it over the bruise. The smell permeated the air quickly, thick and sickly sweet in that odd medicinal way. He glanced over his shoulder to meet Aster’s eyes in the dim light, as if to say _“see?”_ Aster just frowned, closing the gap between them, and Jack gasped, fumbling with the jar when he felt a hot, wet tongue swipe up the back of his neck to the skin beneath his ear, nipping at his lobe.

‘I still have to mark you in “less obvious places”. Believe me, frostbite, there’s gonna be a lot more than round two,’ he promised darkly, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of his thighs for emphasis. Jack forgot to breathe as heat flooded his system again, pressing himself closer against Aster. It was too early after his first orgasm to act on it, but the promise of what was to come hurried him along a little bit. He dropped the jar next to the pillow he was lying on, his hands travelling down Aster’s till they rested over his, twining their fingers together and shivered at how close Aster was to touching his cock, just inches shy of the soft flesh.

‘Frostbite?’ he asked instead, picking up on the nickname Aster had given him. He looked over his shoulder to stare at Aster, who had his eyes closed.

‘Cause yer so fucking cold,’ he replied gruffly, and Jack grinned.

‘So warm me up.’

Aster’s eyes snapped open, bright and hungry in the dim light, and it was never too early to still have some fun.

 

 

It was just shy of four the next morning when Jack eased off the bed, his movements slow and cautious. He glanced over his shoulder multiple times; checking to make sure Aster wouldn't wake up. The Australian was out like a light, sprawled out across his bed with the covers riding low. Jack almost felt bad about sneaking away; given the fun he had last night. The promise of “more than just round two” had been more than fulfilled: marks littered Jack’s body, nowhere that could be seen except the one on his neck. They were across his chest and stomach, between his thighs and over the curve of his hip and when he passed by the floor length mirror on the lower level, yep, there was one on his left ass cheek. He may have deserved that one just for running his mouth off at Aster.

He grinned; committing everything that had happened in the last few hours to memory, just for the wank material, as he carefully opened the tumble dryer door and pulled out his still cooling clothes, shrugging on the t-shirt and hoodie in one and yanking his boxers and jeans over his bruised hips. He looked around, glancing up at the bedroom before he headed to the window where his guitar case sat when something caught his eye. Doing a double take, he saw Aster’s wallet lying on the kitchen counter, and he bit his lip, considering his options.

He looked up at the bedroom again, his ears straining to hear any movement. He flipped it open, and peered into the pouch, whistling lowly. Several hundred dollar bills were stuffed into the leather, and he leafed through them idly. He pursed his lips, thinking quickly, and pulled out three of them, stuffing them down his pants and leaving the rest in the wallet. He placed it back on the counter, and hurried to the window, easing it open and pushing his guitar out through it. He swung his leg over the ledge, and looked up at the bedroom once more. He grinned, and blew a kiss up at the sleeping man, before scrambling out the window and closing it behind him. As they say, all good things must come to an end.

At least, until next Saturday: Aster knew where to find Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Catch Me If You Can
> 
> "That was three hundred dollars you took from me,' Aster said, glaring him. Jack grinned innocently, leaning on his guitar case.
> 
> 'You're not mad about that, are you?'
> 
> 'Yes.'


	2. Catch Me If You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you take three hundred dollars from someone, they're gonna be pissed off with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Catch Me if You Can, by Angela Via.
> 
> I may end up making a playlist for this story, since some chapters have a main song in the title but would have other songs related to certain scenes. I'll see how it plays out till then before I decide.

Jack crept up the front steps to the old, abandoned hotel, glancing around the empty lot for any signs of movement. He avoided the loose slab on the fifth step, and stifled a yawn as he walked up to the front door. The hotel had probably once been an architectural masterpiece – white stone walls and large arching windows, it’s front entrance guarded by four intricately cut pillars that held up the domed roof above the door, the name of the hotel imprinted on the stone in gold. Now the walls were the colour of three day old mushroom soup, weathered and cracked in the corners and under the windowsills and gutters. Most of the windows were smashed or boarded up, and the name on the front had long since faded.

The inside was a slight improvement, wide open rooms with most of the furniture and decorations still intact. White linen that had long faded to an off-yellow colour was draped over just about everything, and dust settled along the ledges and shelves, clinging to the velvet drapes and heavy rugs like a thick grey coat. The particles danced in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the windows of the deserted dining room and the main reception area, casting long blocks of vibrant orange across the cracked marble floor, his shadow distorted and elongated along with it. There were signs though, that it wasn’t completely empty. Finger prints disrupting the long lying dust, scuff marks on the stairs from trainers and boots, chairs and tables that had been uncovered, pushed and pulled out of place.

Faint voices muttered from the “office” off to the left, the door hanging just slightly ajar.

Jack thinned his lips, forcing his footsteps to fall even lighter than normal as he snuck past, making his way to the stairs when there was a sharp strike, and a heavy thump of someone crashing to the floor. He pivoted, lunging for the door and swung it wide to the wall, darting into the room. The five occupants turned to face him, and he absorbed the scene before him in a blink of an eye, the cogs turning in his head as he figured out a way to fix it without consequences.

Old Man Winter stood behind the desk in a sharp grey suit, a scarf hanging around his neck along with the gold medallion that seem soldered around his neck, he was never seen without it. His two bodyguards stood behind him: they could be solid stone the way they were completely unmoving if it wasn’t for the minute shift of their chests with every breath they took. Winter looked furious, a smoking cigar clenched between his teeth, his pure white hair slipping out of place from a sudden movement. Heavy gold rings glinted under the light on his fingers, their designs imprinted on Jamie’s bright red cheek, blood beading just under his eye as he blinked quickly, trying not to cry as he looked up Jack.

Jack leaned against the door jamb, cocking his head to one side and offering Old Man Winter a lazy, curious smile.

‘Is everything all right, sir?’ he asked, keeping his gaze pinned on the criminal. ‘I heard a commotion; I thought one of the children was bothering you: seems I was right.’

He looked at Jamie pointedly, and the boy shrank under his glare. Winter straightened, brushing his hair back into place with one hand and took a drag from his cigar. His piercing grey eyes bore into Jack’s, and the teenager met them straight, trying to barely blink as his heart hammered against his ribcage, fear clawing its way up his throat. He swallowed it down.

‘Jack,’ Winter greeted, and nodded to Jamie. ‘Bothering me, indeed.’

He eased into his seat, looking up at Jack calculatingly. He took another drag of his cigar, rolling it between his bony fingers and tapping it against the crystal ashtray next to him. He exhaled the smoke heavily in a steady trail before he finally spoke.  ‘Do you know how much respect costs?’

‘Nothing,’ he answered instantly, and Winter nodded.

‘Do you know how much it’s worth?’

‘Priceless.’

‘And what does it take to earn it?’

‘Everything,’ Jack replied. ‘Everything the other guy isn’t prepared to do, all the risks he doesn’t take playing it safe, all the work he avoids because he’s too gutless or too stupid to accomplish. Everything you’re prepared to lose and gain on a lucky chance draw. Everything you have that no one else can even hope to get a measure of, no one comes close to.’

‘Do you think I’ve earned that respect?’

‘Of course,’ Jack replied, shrugging as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

‘Disrespect is something I despise,’ he sneered. ‘It’s absolutely disgusting, and I don’t fucking tolerate it at any level of my organisation. That’s a lesson that still needs to be learned here.’

‘Winter, let me take care of this,’ Jack said quickly, forcing his tone to stay level. Old Man Winter stared at him silently, and he shifted from the door, straightening up nonchalantly and burying his free hand in his hoodie pocket. ‘I’ll make sure the lesson is clear.’

‘You want to start doing my job, Jack?’ Winter asked, a challenge in his voice. Jack forced a reassuring smile.

‘I _want_ you to have faith in me that I’m doing _my_ job. And my job is to make sure you don’t have to worry about the... insignificant details,’ he said, curling his lip in distaste, side eyeing Jamie. ‘I want you to be able to rely on me that I can deal with the runts while you focus on the real business. How does it make me look if that’s not happening? How does it make me feel when I see you having to dirty your hands dealing with things not worth your time?’

Winter stared at him thoughtfully, his thin fingers stroking the sharp point of his pale goatee.

‘You know how much I’ve done, Jack? I gave you a roof over your heads, food in your stomach,’ he said. ‘All I ask for is respect, and each of you to pay your own way in return for my generosity.’

‘No one knows that better than me, Winter,’ Jack assured, a dark edge entering his tone and he quirked his lips into a cruel smirk. ‘I’m more than happy to pass on that knowledge too. Trust me; I’m a _very_ good teacher.’

Winter stared at him in silence for several heart beats, scrutinising him before he nodded, waving his hand in Jamie’s direction to dismiss him. The brunet scrambled to his feet, dashing towards the door without a backwards glance when Jack reached out and snagged him by the hair, twisting it till Jamie made a noise of pain in the back of his throat. Jack forced him to meet his eye, glaring down at him furiously.

‘I think you’re forgetting something,’ he snapped, spinning him round so he faced Winter again. ‘Well?’

‘I am so sorry for the disrespect, sir,’ Jamie gabbled quickly, wincing at the pressure on his head, trying to tilt his head to alleviate it. Jack tightened his grip, showing no remorse. ‘It was never my intention, when you’ve done so much for me and my friends. I-I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness, but I w-will work hard to prove how grateful I am. I’m really sorry.’

There was a pause, and Jack looked up at Winter as if asking permission. Winter nodded minutely, and Jack released his grip on Jamie’s hair. For extra measure, he smacked him on the back of the head, where he had grabbed his hair and Jamie clamped his lips together to muffle the yelp of pain, tears spilling down his cheeks.

‘Get up the stairs,’ Jack ordered, jabbing his finger towards the staircase. ‘I’m not through with you yet.’

Jamie nodded silently, darting around him and running up the curving steps. Jack watched him go till he was out of sight, before he turned back to Winter with a smile. ‘My apologies for disturbing you gentlemen, I will leave you to your meeting.’

‘Jack,’ Winter drawled just as Jack stepped back. He paused, meeting Winter’s gaze, and he was beckoned inside. He stepped further inside, closing the door till it stopped in its original position – not quite closed but hardly a sliver between the door and the jamb.

‘Yes, Winter?’ he asked, drawing up till he was level with the large chair the final member of the party reclined in, staring at the criminal across the heavy mahogany desk. Old Man Winter was nearly sixty years old, but he didn’t look it, with broad shoulders and lean whipcord muscles that hadn’t atrophied too much with age. He possessed a razor sharp intelligence and a ruthlessness that hadn’t abated with time, either. He considered himself a business man, and with his right hand man they had set themselves up rather comfortably over the thirty years they’d been working together.

Mr. Stilzchen – Rumpelstiltskin, Jack secretly called him, who sat in front of Old Man Winter now – did the dirty work in the day-to-day running the organisation: the prostitutes and the drug-rings and the rigged betting pools, among other unsavoury activities. He was the one who always sealed new deals arising to bolster the business, opening new channels of income. He was scarily adept at finding loopholes to benefit himself and cripple the opposing party. Old Man Winter oversaw everything, held onto everything and made sure nothing could be traced back to them: all the records of revenue, from the corrupt high rollers in politics and law enforcement to the scraggly homeless busker boys like Jack. They kept moving their scheduled meetings around a set of old abandoned buildings, never going to the same place twice in a year, so they were never tracked down. They somehow managed to bring all the records with them, though Jack never saw them: Winter needed to keep track of his business somehow, when he made the decisions of what revenue wasn’t worth keeping anymore, who had to be ultimately cut from the ranks and who should move up in the world. It was why he took in the scraggly homeless busker boys, gave them food and shelter, something to live for.

And something to work for, because if you did a good job, said yes sir no sir at the right time, enough times, then that roof over your head could go from the decrepit, leaking roof of an old hotel to your very own apartment, all costs covered. That food you were given could go from stew and bread or whatever else the food market “donated” to five star restaurant meals every other day of the week. The higher you climbed, the more you wanted to hold onto it, and you became more willing to do anything to keep it. It made you more loyal, because when you had been on the street from before you could remember any other way of living, you remembered what it was like to be there, and you didn’t want to go back.

So Jack stood there, staring at Old Man Winter patiently, as he straightened his scarf and looked over Jack carefully. Jack could feel the bite mark on his neck like a brand, burning hot just above the collar of his hoodie. He kept his hands down, buried in his hoodie pocket and wrapped around the handle of the guitar case, refusing to try and hide it.

‘Seems I taught you well, my boy,’ Winter said. Jack dipped his head, in semblance of a bow and smiled.

‘I strive to better myself to contribute to your business, Winter,’ he replied. ‘You’ve been good to me; I like to think I can at least try to repay you for your continuing kindness.’

He glanced between the two of them, and his smile widened to the point it hurt his cheeks, the words bitter on his tongue as he spoke them. ‘Both of your kindnesses towards me.’

‘Seems someone was good to you last night, as well,’ Rumpelstiltskin drawled, deliberately drawing attention to the one mark on his neck that he couldn’t hide. Jack’s smile tightened.

‘Scouting out a potential new score,’ he said, and Winter raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I don’t recall fucking the scores being part of the job description,’ he said. ‘Fucking them over, certainly, but I’d hate to think you would lower yourself to such base behaviour.’

‘It’s a score either way,’ Jack joked with a shrug. ‘Win-win situation.’

Rumpelstiltskin laughed: it grated on Jack, and he checked himself before he flinched. Rumpelstiltskin was dark haired and equally dark eyed, like he had two black holes set beneath his sharp arching eyebrows instead of eyes. They were just as empty as black holes, showing nothing of his thoughts or emotions – Jack wondered if he even felt anything, his smile nothing more than muscles moving to accommodate the action, indifferent and cold. He didn’t look anywhere close to Old Man Winter’s age, but then again, he had the type of face that made it difficult to guess much about him. He always wore black, the only hint of colour on him was from the gold chain around his neck, a small square medallion matching Winter’s hanging from it.

‘The boy’s a cocky little shit, Winter,’ he said, with that empty smile, cocking his head to study Jack. Jack kept his eyes forward; his focus pinned on the spot just above Winter’s head. Rumpelstiltskin looked back to Winter, resting his head on his hand and propped his elbow on the arm of his chair. ‘He reminds me of someone in particular.’

Winter snorted, shaking his head. ‘Watch what you fucking imply, Stilzchen.’

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged languidly. ‘“What the other guy isn’t prepared to do”, the risk and the work that needs done? He’s willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done, just like you and I, and if that means spreading his legs like one of my whores, I must admire him for that.’

‘Although,’ he added, looking to Jack again. ‘I’m sure my whores are a far more satisfying experience. We haven’t seen you down at the Goldmine in a while. The girls seem to be missing you.’

‘I don’t want to overstep my boundaries,’ Jack replied, gritting his teeth as he kept his voice casual and light. ‘I appreciate your generosity, but I would never take advantage of it.’

‘Nonsense,’ Rumpelstiltskin said, waving his hand. ‘You are always welcome there, a sign of gratitude for the service you have provided us. Although, I am curious as to why you think this one is a potential new score, hmm?’

Jack dug into his jeans and pulled out two hundred dollar bills, holding them up to show: hardly a show of wealth to the men in front of him, but how many ordinary people were walking around with one of those stuffed in their wallets let alone several? He had their attention anyway, and Winter studied him closely, before grinding his cigar into the ashtray beside his hand.

‘What can you tell us?’ he asked. Jack smiled.

‘He’s an artist, and clearly a highly regarded one: he has a bunch of works in his place just lying around, I think he’s working towards a deadline for an exhibition or something. Might even be one where he’s selling it at.’

Rumpelstiltskin and Winter shared a look.

‘Exhibition, auction,’ Rumpelstiltskin mused. ‘High roller bullshitters who want to pretend they know about art and willing to pay for the chance to show off their half-empty knowledge about what is worth the number of zeros at the end of the number. Could be worth looking into.’

‘If it pays off,’ Winter warned. ‘Depends on who this artist is determines the pay out, but if it’s big enough it could set us up for moving forward with some international pursuits. Poor pay out, we don’t proceed. If we proceed and it gets botched, it’s untraceable back to us.’

‘Poor bastards who get caught will face a lengthy prison sentence for theft, possibly breaking and entering. Hell, maybe they’d even get time for a lucky shot at a cop or two,’ Rumpestiltskin said, shrugging as his blank smile tugged at his lips. ‘Who knows what can happen when things like this happen: in the confusion, they might still misplace the takings and that would just cause a whole new set of issues to deal with.’

Jack knew they were already considering taking the job on: Rumpelstiltskin knew how to work out all the complications and obstacles so they still turned in their favour. He was like a black hole, consuming everything in his path and letting nothing escape his cold hearted grip: he would never let a botched job stop him from successfully raking in the reward, and if he sent someone else down for the crime, poor luck on whoever drew that short straw.

_Sorry Aster,_ Jack thought, realising he was genuinely sorry for the attention he had drawn to the painter. He thought about the half-dozen or so bills in his wallet, and thought about what he could achieve if he had just a few handfuls of that kind of money. _Some things are just more important than your pay cheque_.

‘We’ll consider our options,’ Winter said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. ‘See if we can move the workload around to free up some hands, _if_ this looks like it’s worth it. Jack, keep us updated on what you find about this guy.’

‘You’re letting me lead on this?’ Jack asked, warning bells ringing in his head. While the idea of getting closer to Aster and all it entailed was very appealing, the reason for getting close him made Jack feel uncomfortable. Usually when he had done his part of the job, they’d send in someone else – one of Rumpelstiltskin’s actresses, who knew what to say and how to look and how to act and treat the schmuck they had set up.

Winter nodded, refusing to elaborate and beckoned Jack closer to hand over the two bills. He let them be taken from him, and he handed his guitar over to the guard on the left, who took it wordlessly. He’d count out all of Jack takings, not that it mattered. Jack always made target.

‘How do you want me to do it around busking?’ he asked. Winter pursed his lips thoughtfully, before he answered.

‘Busking is now your second priority after this until further notice,’ he replied. ‘Your targets are on hold. If you can do both, do it, if not, get this guy and get every piece of information out of him about his work and wealth that you can get. Understand, Jack?’

‘Clearly,’ he replied. He tried not to look disappointed or worried: the only money he got was from busking, he’d have to find a way to balance the two so he could still earn some cash. He _needed_ to be able to earn something. He doubted he’d manage to pull another petty theft on the fly now that Aster would be aware of what he had done.

‘Good, I’ll be sending an associate around or any updates on either side over the upcoming weeks,’ he replied. ‘Until then, don’t let your other responsibilities slide.’

‘Of course, Winter.’ Jack backed away nonchalantly, while Winter looked at the two bills in his hand thoughtfully. Jack was ready to head up stairs to Jamie when Winter called on him once again.

‘Jack,’ he said, and Jack stopped. His heart ricocheted off his ribs and felt as though it was half way up this throat. He stood stock still, like a deer in headlights and hoped it didn’t show: did Winter know? Did they suspect, after so long, after being so careful? Did he—

\-- Winter held out the two bills to Jack, and Jack stared at them in shock, unsure what to do. ‘Winter, I couldn’t...’

‘Of course you could, Jack,’ Winter replied, waving him off with his free hand. ‘Consider it an advance.’

Jack stepped up, taking the crisp, green bills from Winter’s fingertips, staring at them with reservation and a new tantalising hope. Two hundred dollars in his hand, the other hundred hidden carefully in the lining of his hoodie alongside another twenty in scrap notes, when he had time to stash it. He had far more than what he had been expecting to have by the end of the week, and it gave him a glimpse of the end game, the light at the end of the tunnel that signalled what he was working towards was almost in his grasp.

‘An advance?’ he repeated, realising what Winter had just said. Winter smiled and steepled his fingers together as he looked over them at Jack calculatingly.

‘Been working for me a long time, Jack,’ he said. ‘Been doing a good job too, and we’ve been generous with the perks we’ve awarded you for your service, but with this – taking this initiative, taking on responsibilities beyond your requirement – this gives me reason to consider a bigger payout.’

‘Winter?’

‘This works out in our favour – in your favour, Jack,’ he corrected, nodding to the two hundred in his hand. ‘And you’ll get ten times what’s in your hand there and then, plus one percent of what remains. Afterwards, we’ll talk about a promotion.’

Jack’s eyes widened, staring at Winter dumbstruck. This was not part of the plan: work hard enough so that he kept on Winter’s good side, yes. Work hard enough that he gets noticed and singled out by Winter, no. The cogs turned and whirred in his head, trying to figure out how to work this to his advantage, because he could, he knew he could. He should’ve seen it coming when he had been offered all the perks he received over the year – he didn’t get searched anymore for hidden money and he was allowed access to the Goldmine free of charge (though he rarely visited, and never took what was offered), all the little add on that he should’ve been wary of receiving and now he was getting backed into a corner without having realised it.

He thought about the two grand he’d just been promised, plus a one percent of whatever else money they nabbed: if he could pull it off just right, he wouldn’t have to worry about being in Winter’s sights for too long. He wouldn’t have to worry about getting out before he got in too deep, he’d be _out_ before that happened.

‘Thank you, Winter,’ he said, unable to form anything else coherently. Winter just smiled and waved him off, as if it were nothing to him. It probably wasn’t, but it was everything to Jack – and they knew it, maybe not in the way they _thought_ , but they’d given Jack something to work for. Something to live for and he didn’t want to lose it. Damn it.

‘Use it to take care of that guitar of yours,’ Winter suggested. ‘Put in a reservation at your favourite restaurant, enjoy it. There might be more where it’s coming from.’

‘Thank you,’ he repeated, backing out the room before he had a chance to change his mind.

‘Oh, and Jack,’ Rumpelstiltskin added, making Jack pause. ‘Do pop round the Goldmine sometime soon, the girls do so miss you.’

‘I’ll be round sometime this week?’ Jack offered, and Rumpelstiltskin nodded, clearly appeased as he turned back to Winter, and Jack slid out the room and closed the door as they got back to business. He had his own to attend to.

Jack stuffed the money down his trousers and bounded up the stairs two and three at a time to the third level, heading for one of the back rooms that the majority of the hotel’s residents used as a safe point – one of the few rooms that weren’t rigged with cameras or wires because of the damp in the walls. They’d found one by chance, and then had scouted out the other six rooms that were found to be safe points, plus another eight that they weren’t entirely sure about but could be used as backups if needed. It allowed them to speak freely, but they had to limit their time spent in them, in case they drew suspicion.

There were only eight of them in the entirety of the hotel, although Winter was always kind enough to send in a couple of security guards – Jack recognised the two in the office after so many social calls - to “check up” on them and to collect the weekly funds or send in a group of runners to drop off any food supplies, since it was rare for him to drop by the hotel anyway. He always had people monitoring his “employees” – the homeless ones anyway; the one’s holed up in abandoned hotels and churches, old subway carriages in abandoned train stations. Jack had no idea how many unlucky sods Winter had under his thumb, how many “homes” he disrupted and intimidated with his presence alone. It had just been bad luck for Jamie and Jack that he decided his meeting with Rumpelstiltskin would be held at the hotel that day.

He barrelled into the room, looking around the empty space and saw the group of kids lounging around close to each other on a makeshift bed, one of many scattered around the hotel. Pippa and Cupcake each had an arm around Jamie in a half hug, while the twins – Caleb and Claude – hung back at the edge of the bed with Monty, and the youngest of the group – Sophie, Jamie’s younger sister – sat at her older brother’s feet. They all looked up as soon as Jack entered the room, and he didn’t miss the wide eyed fear that had flickered across their faces at the thought that it could be someone else. It tore him apart, seeing them scared when they were all still so young. This was no way for kids to live.

He ran up to Jamie, dropping down in front of him and drew him into a tight hug. Sophie wriggled out from where she was almost squished between them, and Cupcake pulled her up onto her knee. Jamie looped his arms around Jack’s neck and buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, clinging to him like a lifeline. Jack rubbed soothing circles on his back, shushing him as he sniffled into the material of his hoodie.

‘It’s okay, Jamie,’ he murmured. ‘It’s okay; I didn’t mean any of it. I didn’t mean a word of it, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I never would. You’re safe with me, I promise.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie whispered, and Jack shook his head. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault, whatever had happened; Jamie was smart enough not to deliberately antagonise Winter, but any small thing could set him off.

‘You got to be more careful, kiddo,’ Jack said, pulling away and staring at the bright red mark on his cheek, the cut no longer bleeding but a bruise would definitely mark his skin for the next few days. He thought about the ointment Aster had at his place, and mentally kicked himself for not nabbing that as well. There was nothing he could do about it now, though, so he just wiped the blood off Jamie’s cheek with the hem of his sleeve, and hugged him again.

‘You gotta be careful guys,’ he repeated, looking around at all of them. ‘All you have to say is “yes sir” and “no sir” and the rest of the time keep your heads down and your mouths shut. I’ll get you guys out soon, I promise.’

‘ _How_ soon, though?’ Claude asked, glancing towards the door out of habit. Jack sighed, scratching his head.

‘I don’t know, but it looks like it’ll be sooner rather than later,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder towards the door as Claude had done. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

 

Jack had spent the whole of Sunday with the hidden money in his hoodie, the two hundred stuffed down his back pocket, even long after Old Man Winter and Rumpelstiltskin had left with the guards in tow. They’d cleaned out the guitar case of all the spare change and notes dropped there, and had gone through all the checks to make sure he hadn’t been trying to hide anything in the lining of it. Jokes on them, had been for a long time: even if they did search him, they wouldn’t find the hundred and twenty in the hem: he had padded the cuffs, the hood and the hemline with double folded material, and the small hole that allowed him to slip money in and out of it was tied shut with a short, loose string from his hoodie so it didn’t look suspicious.

Still, he felt like it was burning a hole in the material as he went about his Sunday routine: collecting and storing the next week’s groceries from the weary, tired eyed runner with three of his finger missing, scars running up and down his arms and neck and face. He’d retuned his guitar, had practiced maths and reading with Sophie from old school books he’d found in dumpsters or on the street over the years. He’d checked in on Jamie, Claude and Caleb who were using the hotel’s empty swimming pool as a skate park, their boards rickety and loose from the wheels, but at least they laughed and joked with each other while Monty read lying stretched out on the diving board. Cupcake and Pippa had been found using the small stage in the dining room – probably where live music used to be played – acting out a story from their own imaginations before he called them together for lunch, which was tinned tomato soup that had to be heated on a set of hot plates and slightly stale bread rolls. The entire hotel was powered by an old generator kept in the basement – who put it there or how it got there was best left unquestioned, since it just showed up one day when Jack was fourteen, but it was useful at least and it made the old hotel more liveable.

They didn’t stay in during the afternoon: the kids went to the park, allowed themselves to be kids for a little while before the new week started and they had to do the whole routine all over again. Jack always tasted a bitter poison at the thought of such generosity from Winter, who allowed them to have this one day of freedom each week. He had kept an eye on them, keeping back in the shadow of the tree line: stray, ratty looking kids were tolerated but ignored by concerned parents out with their own brood; Jack wouldn’t receive the same leniency. He wondered how long it would last, with each year passing at an alarming rate: they were all nearly thirteen; Sophie eight, and eventually it wouldn’t be enough for them to pick-pocket or street perform or busk like Jack. He pushed the thought away, kept it to the back of his mind: they were going to get out, he wouldn’t let anything happen to them.

So when night fell, and the hotel was dark and quiet and Jack had retired to his bedroom – one of the seven “safe points” he’d deliberately chosen to make it easier to keep his plan secret and safe. He had waited until past midnight – the alarm clock on his bedside table that he’d found by luck glaring luminous green zeroes at him when he had slipped out from under his blanket and had crept across the room to the set of empty drawers at the far side of the room. Despite it being a safe point, Jack never took any chances when it came to protecting what was important to him, hadn’t for the last five years he’d been doing this.

Shifting the chest as carefully as he could, glancing around every so often out of habit, he knelt down and eased the metal grate of the vent out of its position. The smell of damp and rot invaded his nose, the room always cold and smelling moist, but there was nothing he could do about that. The old shaggy rugs scattered across the floor made it somewhat bearable, and at least the mattress and blankets stayed dry for him to sleep under. Most of the time he crashed with all the kids in the same room, especially during the winter months when the frost crept in, but there were times when he had to keep apart from them, especially when he was doing this.

He lay flat on his belly, and reached deep into the vent till his fingertips closed around the smooth, freezing cold surface and he pulled the heavy jar out to rest it in his lap. It was stuffed with bills, tens, twenties, even a few lucky fifties he managed to swipe over the years. He’d counted it out enough times to know he had had enough to get himself out of there for a long time, several times over. Not enough to get seven kids out with him, and definitely not enough to even begin setting up a new life with them, and that was the only way he was leaving. He wouldn’t take them from one rundown hotel to another: they needed something real, something they could build a life on, something Jack had never had but wanted so desperately to give them.

He stuffed the three hundred and twenty into the mass of green, working out the calculations in his head quickly. They were getting close to the mark, and soon they’d be out of there. He just needed a little more, and Aster seemed to have some to spare. Jack didn’t know what would happen if Winter and Rumpelstiltskin managed to swipe a few extra grand, but that wasn’t his problem, however guilty he felt about it even in his half-awake state. He screwed the lid back on, and replaced everything to where it originally was before returning to bed and flopping onto the covers. It would be a long week before he managed to hook Aster again. Hopefully by then, he’d have forgotten about the three hundred dollars Jack had swiped. 

* * *

Monday’s outside the central library were usually uneventful. He still set up busking there simply because he had nothing else to do until he found Aster again, and that likely wasn’t going to happen until Saturday. He could’ve gone round searching for his flat but he had kind of forgotten exactly where it was. It was certainly in one of the nicer parts of town, one of the few that didn’t seem touched by Winter’s corruption, but those kind of things you could never be too sure about. He didn’t want to waste time trying to find it anyway: even with his priorities rearranged and his target on hold, he still needed to bring in the cash- enough to sneak into their savings, enough to share amongst the kids of they fell short, enough to hand over to Winter, to make it look like he was still doing a good job.

He had taken a break to head up into the library and use one of their computers. The librarian had given him a suspicious look, but he had just smiled and waved politely at her before choosing one of the computers at the very back of the colossal room, the high domed, glass ceiling seemed to capture all the light the sun sent and spread it around the room, lighting up the polished wood of the bookshelves and tables, making the mosaic floor shine and dance with shimmering colours.

He enjoyed the peace and quiet in the library, the idea of being in the centre of a thousand worlds seeming magical and strange. He liked to think that was why it had to be so quiet: a single vowel spoken aloud would break the spell and render the worlds around him as nothing more than inked sheets of paper, bound together by glue and card. Right now though, he had to rely on technology to get the information he needed, and when the Google search page popped up, he had typed up _“artist Aster”_ in a vague hope he’d get somewhere, and was greeted with a list of possibilities.

_E **Aster** Bunnymund enchants crowd in latest exhibition at..._

_E **Aster** Bunnymund continues to push the boundaries in stunning new..._

_E **Aster** Bunnymund has come a long way from his days as a child **art** prodigy but still..._

_E **Aster** Bunnymund teams up with renowned photographer..._

Jack jumped down the news articles, straight to the image results and grinned as he opened the link in a new tab. He was greeted by photo after photo of Aster glaring at the camera, as if the flashing lights offended him personally. There were photos of some of his works as well, and Jack looked into them with genuine interest. Sprawling fantasy landscapes of palaces built into the side of snowy mountains till it looked like it was carved out of the ice and snow, or made entirely of sand on a sweeping, shifting island in the middle of the ocean with the moon hovering, full and low over the towering spirals. There were scenes depicting fantastical wars of furry creatures with six arms and giant, egg shaped stones fighting against a mass of darkness that consumed half the canvas.

He clicked through the links on the first page of results, reading up on everything he could find about Aster – no, he wasn’t _stalking_ , damn it - and learnt he had come into the public eye when he was four, recreating famous artworks with impressive precision and creating his own equally incredible pieces. He didn’t have any family and he didn’t have a partner, which Jack for some reason needed confirmation on to ease a twisting worry in his gut that he hadn’t realised was there. Aster kept to himself mostly unless he was attending one of his exhibitions, and he had few friends, some of whom Jack recognised with surprise: Tattoo’s and his wife, with her bright clothes and pretty eyes. She was a renowned photographer herself, who had teamed up with Aster on occasion for projects, and held a number of exhibitions herself. Her name was Toothiana North, and Tattoo’s was actually named Nicholas St. North, and they worked together in their photography studio in the city. He designed and created custom-made frames for her work, for both exhibitions and for everyday customers who came to her for her photography skills.

They were an interesting group of people, and Jack would never have suspected they would know each other from the Saturdays he saw each of them in turn. He spent another hour trawling through the information, before he decided he had enough information on Aster to hand over to Winter’s associate for the first update. Aster raked in more than enough money on an annual basis: he only had an exhibition every couple of years, and got by on commissions in between that, and he got more than enough of those. Jack had figured out where the seven hundred dollars had came from in one go, Aster was not cheap. He also had an exhibition coming up, where he would auction off his artwork again to collectors.

He logged off and wandered out, squinting against the sun’s glare as he made his way down the steps before he stopped dead, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Sitting five steps up from the bottom, obviously waiting for someone – Jack, he was waiting for Jack, there was no doubt about it – was Aster. Jack jogged down the steps, staying in his blind spot till he was level, and dropped into a crouch beside him.

‘Hi Aster!’ he said cheerfully, making the older man jump in surprise. Aster scowled at him, and Jack followed him up as he stood, brushing his jeans off and folded his arms across his chest.

‘That was three hundred dollars you took from me,’ Aster said, glaring at him. Jack grinned innocently, leaning on his guitar case.

‘You’re not mad about that, are you?’

‘ _Yes._ ’

‘Oh,’ Jack faltered, taking a step back. Over six foot of pure muscle would always win over five foot nine of skin and bone. Aster followed him, and Jack gulped, realising he was probably in a lot of trouble.

‘Aster, look, I understand you’re pissed off, but I can explain--’ he began.

‘Explain to the cops,’ Aster replied simply, and reached to grab Jack’s hoodie. Jack ducked out of reach, and kicked out with his foot, pulling Aster’s foot off the step. Aster lost balance and fell, throwing a hand out to stop his head from bloodying the steps and Jack was already off, barrelling down the street without a glance back. His heart hammered in his chest, panic rising in his throat: no matter what happened, he couldn’t get turned into the police. If he got arrested and ended up in jail, the kids would never survive without him. He wouldn’t let that happen, and he had the upper hand in knowing the streets like the back of his hand.

He dodged around a corner, bolting across an intersection just as the lights turned green, ignoring the angry shouts and blaring horns that followed him. He heard the pounding rhythm of feet pursuing him, Aster quickly catching up to him. He ducked and dodged around pedestrians, shoving them out of the way when they wouldn’t get out of his way and turned down an alleyway, a metal fence blocking the route. He kept running, leaping up onto the crates and boxes stacked against it and threw his guitar over the top of it, the straps snagging in the twisted wire at the top as he clamoured over it. He kicked the boxes away, and they tumbled down in an avalanche. He unhooked the straps and dropped to the ground and glanced behind him when he heard a yell.

‘Fuck!’ Aster stumbled over the boxes and launched himself onto the gate. Jack yelped in surprise to see him that close and took off running again.  The metal rattled under Aster’s weight as he pulled himself up over it gracefully and dropped into a crouch, following him.

Of course he had to be fast and graceful compared to Jack, anything else would have been _easy_. He crossed the road blindly and looped around the block, doubling back on himself. Onlookers stared at him strangely as he barrelled past the twin stone lions guarding the front, glancing left and right to try and figure out a way to go when he looked back and saw Aster in pursuit. He squawked inelegantly, and chose left; towards the park he spent his Wednesdays and Thursdays.

It was several blocks down, past a street market that Jack took a sharp left to dodge through, shoving his way through the narrow, crowded street. He looked behind him, and locked eyes with Aster a split second later. He groaned, and ran, bypassing stalls selling trinkets and hand crafted jewellery and other such things. A coffee shop on his left had a sign standing out front displaying the daily specials, and Jack pivoted on the ball of his foot and kicked it, catching the underside of the sign and sending it clattering across the ground. It slammed into Aster’s calves and he stumbled and fell into a group of passersby, pulling them to the ground with him with a shocked yell.

‘Jack, you li’l shit!’

‘Sorry!’ he called back, laughing despite himself as he turned down one of the adjoining alleys and followed it out onto the main road, heading for the green painted gates of the park. Aster pulled himself up, apologising to the others as he followed, his feet pounded against the pavement as he ran after Jack in long, loping strides.

Jack dashed through the large metal gates of the park entrance, avoiding a dachshund that yapped at his ankles as he passed and he turned down one of the long, winding paths paved with white slabs. It took him past the play park, looped around the empty flowerbeds – summer finally over, taking the blossoms with it - towards the large fountain in the centre of the park, where all the paths met and twisted around themselves.

‘Frostbite!’ Aster yelled, and Jack whirled round impulsively at the sound of the odd nickname Aster gave him. He didn’t notice the group of teenagers on skateboards and bikes crossing paths with him until he crashed into them, his foot landing on a wayward skateboard that sent him careening into the side of the fountain and over the low wall encasing it. He squawked indignantly as he hit the water, keeping his guitar aloft so it didn’t get into the shallows. The teenagers cursed and swore at him, but he ignored them, and when Aster approached, they scarpered elsewhere. He sat up, spitting out water and gagging, wiping his eyes with his free hand as he stared up at Aster’s smug grin.

‘Does this mean we’re even?’ he asked, pulling himself up, the water reaching half way up his calves as he stood there soaking wet.

‘For the sign, yeah,’ Aster agreed, nodding his head. ‘For the three hundred, not a long shot.’

‘Huh, okay,’ Jack said, and turned and took the short cut, splashing straight through the fountains water to the other side. A splash behind him told him Aster had taken his approach, and as he leapt over the other side, he risked a glance back and grinned at Aster. ‘Really?’

‘Short cut,’ Aster replied, and reached for him, only to grab empty air as Jack bolted again down the path. They were watched by afternoon strollers, people enjoying their day only to have in interrupted by two sopping wet men chase each other around the winding paths and up into the woods along the dirt tracks.

The track Jack ran onto looped around the park edge, with branching off pathways that led into the woods or down to the lake and endless possibilities of trails to take. He took a sharp right, up onto the higher tracks and then, a few dozen meters along leapt over the side down the slope, tearing through the shrubs and plants onto the lower track, jumping over roots and small boulders as he got further and further away from the other pedestrians. He finally slowed to a halt after doubling back on himself and climbing onto one of the higher slopes again, hunching over and resting his hand on his knees as he looked around, with no sign of Aster. He sighed, wiping his brow as he straightened tiredly and began to slowly make his way down the path.

A branch snapped behind Jack, and he whirled around, looking for Aster. He saw nothing down the path, the way clear. He turned and shot down the path again, ignoring his burning lungs and his tired limbs. His guitar was heavy in his grasp, slippery with his sweating palms wrapped around the leather grip.  He sped on ahead, glancing once over his shoulder when something heavy and solid collided with his stomach, knocking him off his feet. The air left his lungs in a rush and he couldn’t tell up from down as the foliage above his head swirled in a flurry of greens and yellows above his head before he crashed onto the ground. His guitar clattered to the ground beside him, the strings humming angrily as they bumped against the lining of the case.

Aster was suddenly over him, pinning his arms by his side, caging him with his own body. Jack lay there, dazed as they gasped for breath, hearts racing and sweat beading on their skin. Dirt and leaves clung to Jack’s wet clothes, caking his feet and ankles in foliage. He looked over Aster’s shoulder at the rustling leaves overhead, the hint of yellow and orange and brown beginning to creep into the edges of some of the leaves. He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes and going limp in Aster’s grip.

‘You can’t take me to the police,’ he said quietly, opening his eyes and turning his head to meet Aster’s gaze.

‘Ya don’t seem that adamant about avoiding it,’ Aster said sarcastically. Jack’s lips quirked up in a weak half smile, before he became serious, eyes narrow and brow furrowed.

‘Aster, I mean it,’ he said. ‘If you take me to the police, it... well, it won’t be good for me and I can’t give you the money back but... please, just, don’t take me to the police.’

Aster sighed, releasing one of Jack’s arms and rubbing his face wearily. ‘What the hell did ya do with three hundred dollars? Ya obviously didn’t spend it.’

‘How’d you know?’ Jack replied a bit too quickly. He should be better than that: he had years of practice at hiding the truth and avoiding leading questions.

‘You’d think you’d buy a pair of shoes at least,’ Aster replied, looking over his shoulder at Jack’s bare feet. Jack shrugged.

‘Maybe I gave it to the homeless,’ he said, and Aster gave him a disbelieving look.

‘Right, cause yer such a good Samaritan,’ he said drily. He shook his head. ‘Ya don’t have it ta give it back, and ya obviously can’t repay me...’

‘Aster, _please_ reconsider the cops!’ Jack stressed, and Aster looked down at him. He looked at war with himself, trying to decide what he should do. Jack couldn’t let him make the wrong choice. He grabbed his arm with his freed hand, squeezing it tightly. ‘Aster, please: I’ll repay you some other way. I’ll clean your apartment, I’ll run errands, I’ll blow you in the middle of the fucking street if you want, just don’t take me to the cops.’

Aster snorted with laughter, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he tried not to grin. ‘Mate, we’d both be pulled in if ya did that. Also, I’m not one for airing my business out for the public to see.’

‘Except for your exhibitions,’ Jack replied.

‘Yeah I – how the fuck d’ya know ‘bout that?’ Aster demanded, confused and suspicious at the same time. Jack smiled innocently.

‘I might have Googled you?’ he said, gauging Aster’s reaction. He filed it under “unimpressed”. ‘Is your name really “Bunnymund”?’

Correction: it was more exasperated than unimpressed.

‘Come on, get up,’ he said finally, pushing himself to his feet and dragging Jack up alongside him. Jack grabbed his guitar case, brushing the twigs and leaves off his clothes as best as he could while Aster straightened himself out and stretched out his arms till the shoulders popped. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down a Jack contemplatively. In truth he wasn’t that pissed off about the money, it wasn’t like that money had needed to go towards anything in particular. Still, he wasn’t exactly fond of being robbed _and_ ditched after sex, but something pulled at him to give Jack a second chance.

‘Shit, I’m going to regret this,’ Aster cursed, scrubbing his hand through his hair. Jack perked up, grinning widely at Aster.

‘You’re not going to turn me in?’ he asked, hopeful. Aster shook his head, and Jack went limp with relief, his whole body sagging forward before he straightened again, chuckling. ‘Thank you, Aster.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Aster sighed, shaking his head. He seemed to have a soft spot for the damn kid, just his luck. He looked over at Jack, who was wringing out the hem of his hoodie, water pooling at his feet as it dripped down his legs in thin, wandering rivulets. ‘So, guess yer coming back to my place again?’

‘What? Want me to blow you in the middle of your apartment instead? How about you paint me like one of your French girls?’ Jack asked cheekily as they began to wander back down the path. Aster rolled his eyes, looping his arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulling him closer, like they were an actual couple out for an afternoon stroll.

‘Shut the fuck up, Jack,’ he said, but it didn’t hold any force behind it. ‘Or I might change my mind.’

‘No, you’re too nice for that,’ Jack cooed jokingly. ‘You’re like an overgrown fluffy Australian bunny.’

Aster levelled a deadpan stare at Jack, and pushed him into the nearest bush. Jack just laughed as leaves exploded around him, pulling himself up and chasing after Aster as he jogged down the path, pulling twigs and leaves out of his hair as he ran. It seemed things were going to work out for the best for Jack.

* * *

I just want to also say thank you so much to [LadyDee](http://ladydee0904.tumblr.com/)  over on tumblr who took the time to make  [this](http://ladydee0904.tumblr.com/post/79099563664) for this fanfiction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone recognises him, but Rumpelstiltskin is an OC from one of my other RotG fanfics. Other OCs (maximum 2-3) from the same story will show up in this one as background characters.
> 
> Next Chapter: Porn Star Dancing
> 
> Jack had never liked The Goldmine, or any of Rumpelstiltskin's establishments in truth. The only reason he kept coming back to this one in particular was because of the accidental friendship he had struck up with a couple of the girls who worked there. Although one was currently no where to be seen and the other was busy wrapped around a pole.


	3. Porn Star Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to catch up with friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags: brief mention of homophobia and biphobia at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Introducing one OC and mentions another to appear later in the story, both from another fic set in the RotG universe.
> 
> Title: Porn Star Dancing by My Darkest Days & Zack Wylde.

The next two weeks had been somewhat hectic for Jack, trying to juggle spending time with Aster and the kids alongside busking and learning all he could about the artist he had been sharing a bed with almost every night. The exhibition was taking place in under three weeks, where all his major pieces would be auctioned off to private collectors or art galleries around the country. Aster was, needless to say, incredibly accomplished. Not to mention surprisingly easy to get along with: the time he spent with Aster hadn’t just been about sex or Jack running errands for him – a surprisingly easy set up, considering Jack was sure Aster trusted him about as far as he could throw him.

He had used all of it as an excuse to avoid acting on his promise to Rumpelstiltskin, but he couldn’t slip away from it forever. So, when Friday morning rolled round and he was wandering over to Aster’s, he took a detour down the back alleys and side streets from the hotel down to the river front, where the market was held every other week, seedy bars and nightclubs staggered intermittently between fast food joints and taxi companies and those odds-and-ends shops that seemed to change owners every couple of months. The Goldmine was just around the corner from the river front and up the steep slope of a hill towards Lamadary Road. It was located in that odd, grey area between what was considered the main street and the back roads, the one’s that weren’t safe at night, the one’s you only travelled in groups if you were using them as a short cut to get to where you want to go.

He could hear the hubbub from Lamadary Road up the hill, the mass of vehicles revving their engines and blaring their horns at each other between intersections and traffic lights. It was one of the busiest streets in Burgess, one of the central shopping streets since it had four different malls scattered up and down its length. He glanced up briefly to the top of the hill, a writhing mass of bodies winding between each other as they tried to get to where they wanted to go, before he headed inside the double-doors of the Goldmine.

From the outside, it didn’t look like much, which was the norm for such establishments. It had its name embossed in curling gold letters above the front door and the four large windows were blacked out from prying eyes. He easily passed by reception with a wave to the woman at the desk: he was well known here, and thankfully not for any reason usually related to this kind of place, and entered through a second set of double doors into the main room.

The girls referred to it as the lounge, and he could understand why, with its plush armchairs and sofas in dark reds and black surrounding black glass tables. The only difference was the bar on the opposite side of the room from where he stood, the wall behind it lined with neat rows of alcoholic beverages, and the large half-circle stage that occupied the back section of the room. It was lit up with bright show lights, the light reflecting off the three poles standing in a V formation across the stage. Backstage was a dressing room all the performers shared, as well as a stairwell up to the rooms of the women that lived here. Either side of the bar was a doorway: one leading to the kitchens, the other to the entertainment suites, located way back in the building away from any of the main streets.

Jack had never liked The Goldmine, or any of Rumpelstiltskin's establishments in truth. The only reason he kept coming back to this one in particular was because of the accidental friendship he had struck up with a couple of the girls who worked there. Except one was currently nowhere to be seen and the other was busy wrapped around a pole.

The main spotlight was the only one that was on, focused on her on the middle pole. Beads of perspiration collected on her forehead and chest, her thighs and arms glistening like she’d had glitter thrown over her despite only wearing a pair of tiny denim shorts and a sports bra. She was practicing to a loud, thumping track, transitioning between each hold or lift at the beats, and spinning around with a graceful ease while Jack wandered over to where a black satchel was lying against the chair, hitching up his sleeves and leaning against one of the tables as he watched her dance.

“Faerie-Tale”, better known as Satu – although Jack wondered if that really was her name, since it meant faerie tale anyway - was one of the favourites at the Goldmine, even though all she did was dance. It was unusual for one of the employees to only dance, but she explained it away that it was part of her act, feeding men the fantasy but never letting them have it and shatter the illusion. Jack couldn’t quite remember how they’d met, but she had shown up when he was sixteen and had been at the Goldmine ever since, dancing on stage.

She caught sight of him and smiled, upside down by an inside leg hang. He waved, smiling back and she transitioned into a spin, sliding into vertical splits as the song drew to a close and finished on a basic invert, and kicked her long, slim legs wide cheekily before righting herself and dropping to the ground. The music cut off, and she gave a nod to the music technician before jumping off the stage and grabbing the towel draped over the back of the nearest chair, wandering over to Jack.

‘Jack sweetie,’ she greeted breathlessly, throwing the towel around the back of her neck and wiping her face. ‘Don’t hug me; I’m sweating like a big, overworked horse here.’

‘Eh, don’t care,’ Jack said, and looped his arms around her waist. She was only five-foot-seven and twig-thin, but in the heels she was wearing she almost matched Aster. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him comfortably when he dipped and tightened his hold, lifting her up and spinning her around. She half-screamed in surprise, kicking her feet until Jack set her down again. She didn’t even waver in her heels, just laughed, swatting at his shoulder playfully and waved away the music technician, who had taken a step towards them hearing her scream.

‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing her bag and his hand and leading him through the door up to the entertainment suites. ‘I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, you have to tell me everything that has been going on... especially where you got those prints, sugar.’

She meant the bruises around his wrist, where Aster had held him down – much to Jack’s delight – the evening before. He had other marks up and down his body, Aster taking care not to make them visible around his clothes. He hadn’t done it since the first night they spent together, and listened to Jack on other things that he wasn’t comfortable with or unsure about. It was... nice, for lack of a better word.

He didn’t get to contemplate it further as Satu dragged him in to the nearest room, flipping the notice to the side to say it was occupied and closed the door behind them. Jack wandered further into the instantly recognisable room, his previous visits always ending up here. It was a modest suite: a bed, a sofa and a bathroom through the only other door in the room. He always joked about going over it with a UV light before he touched anything, and Satu usually just rolled her eyes and warned him not to let the cleaners hear him talk trash about their abilities.

The room was comfortable and clean anyway, but there weren’t any windows, something that had always made Jack feel confined and uncomfortable, and remembering the large wall of windows Aster had at his place, he felt the discomfort even more now. He pulled a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge – the rooms never kept alcohol in them – and sank onto the sofa, taking a swig from it and looking around the room idly as he heard the shower running in the bathroom.

‘I’ll be out in a second,’ Satu called out.

‘No problem,’ Jack replied, leaning back. The room was lit with adjustable-brightness lights set into the walls in long, thin strip around the walls and he reached up behind him to lower the harsh glare of the lights. ‘So, how have things been here while I’ve been gone?’

‘Eugh,’ Satu replied, and Jack chuckled.

‘Darcy broke someone’s jaw,’ Satu called through. ‘And threw out like, five guys over the last three weeks. She revoked their memberships and everything.’

‘What did they do?’ Jack asked, genuinely intrigued.

‘Didn’t take no for an answer,’ Satu replied. Jack nodded, swigging his water. Darcy was part of the security at the Goldmine along with a dozen others, and while she had a quick-fire temper and the vocabulary of an angry trooper, she was usually fair. If anyone fucked with the girls though, she’d lay anyone who stepped out of line on their ass faster than Jack could blink and while Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t around, Darcy was the one who laid down the law.

‘You know there’s a chance they’ll get their memberships back if they go to Mr. Stilzchen, right?’ Jack asked. Darcy and Rumpel didn’t exactly agree on the proper etiquette of visitors, and if any of them complained to Rumpelstiltskin, he’d more than likely let them back in. It wouldn’t stop Darcy from throwing them back out if they acted like arseholes again.

‘I know,’ Satu said as she strolled out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a plain white tank top, a towel wrapped around her head like a turban. ‘But it’s the principle of the matter.’

She flopped down on the sofa next to him, tucking her long legs underneath her and resting one arm on the back of the sofa. She unfolded the turban from around her head, letting her long, wavy platinum hair tumble down her back, rubbing it dry. Jack watched her quietly as she pushed the thick waves back from her face. She was incredibly pretty, with the same colour of eyes as Aster, but they didn’t spark like his, drawing Jack in. Instead, Satu’s were guarded and secretive, deflecting unwanted attention easily.

‘So,’ she drawled with a smile, focusing those deflective eyes on Jack’s wrists. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’

‘He’s just a guy I met,’ Jack said, smiling. ‘I mean, it’s not like this is on my free time, like I get any of that...’

‘This guy is a new job?’ Satu asked, cocking her head to the side curiously. Jack nodded, frowning at his water bottle.

‘Yeah,’ he said, suddenly feeling a guilty sensation settle in the pit of his stomach. ‘He’s um, he’s an artist – big time, got everyone after what he paints and it rakes in a pretty decent sum and uh, Old Man Winter wants a cut of it so, yeah...’

‘Why send you in, I thought Mr. Stilzchen would be here scouting for a girl to wine and dine the poor man? Or is it because there are only girls here?’ Satu asked. Jack shrugged, honestly unsure if Aster would even be interested in women.

‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully. ‘He said if this is a success, then it’s my break – I get a pretty decent cut and start moving up through the ranks.’

‘Congratulations,’ Satu said, though it wasn’t with her usual enthusiasm. ‘You must be excited about that.’

‘Just hoping this works out, right now,’ Jack deflected, and Satu nodded, knowing not to push him. They never spoke about it, but Jack often wondered if Satu was here the same way he was: nowhere to go, stuck out on the streets with nothing but a last resort to survive on and doing what needed to be done to get by. He knew she had a place of her own to crash, props of earning a couple of hundred dollars a night after Rumpelstiltskin took his share, but out of respect for her privacy he never asked about it. It was enough to know that she was doing well and comfortable despite the circumstances their lives tended to end up in.

‘Enough about the job then, Jack darling,’ Satu said, waving it away. ‘Talk to me about the man who gave you _those_.’

She pointed to the marks on his wrists, and Jack grinned, knowing that was something he could easily talk about.

* * *

It was past two in the afternoon before he said goodbye to Satu, and she headed up onto the main street to go shopping while he turned and headed west to Aster’s, finally able to map out where to go to find his apartment again. As per usual, he avoided the front door, and went round the back to the fire escape, jumping onto the bins like Aster had that first day and dragging the ladder down so he could climb up to Aster’s apartment.

When he got there, he stopped in surprise outside the window, catching that Aster wasn’t alone. Toothiana – the photographer – was lounging on one of the sofas, mug in hand as they spoke over a few of his canvases. She pointed to one, asking Aster about it and laughing when he just frowned, shaking his head. It was then he decided to glance up, and caught Jack in the window. He beckoned him inside, and Jack jimmied the window and climbed inside.

‘Didn’t think ye’d show up today, Frostbite,’ Aster said, setting the canvas down on the table. ‘Everything good?’

‘Yeah, just had to drop by somewhere before I came here,’ he said. ‘Anything you need me to do today?’

‘Can’t say I do, mate,’ he said, scratching his chin. He had two day stubble, had been painting almost non-stop between eating, sleeping and sex, to prepare for the exhibition in just under a month’s time. He nodded to Toothiana. ‘This is Tooth, by the way. Tooth, this is Jack – the one I was telling ya about.’

‘Hello,’ Jack said, raising a hand in a friendly wave. Tooth smiled, sitting forward in her seat and extending her hand to Jack. He took it, and shook it politely. She had bracelets and bangles up and down her arms, and dressed in a floaty, bright skirt that looked blue and green and purple all in one and a strappy top.

‘I recognise you,’ she said, cocking her head to the side and staring at him with her wide violet eyes. ‘You’re the young boy who’s always busking on the street corner, right? We pass you every Saturday on the way to the play park, you have a lovely voice. I remember one time I was walking alone and you started to sing, um... what was it... “Isn’t She Lovely”? I think it was, and you had this daisy stuck behind your ear an everything. I thought it was adorable.’

‘Yeah, I remember that,’ he replied with a small smile, taken aback by how talkative she was. ‘Um, how’re you?’

‘I’m well, thanks,’ she said, leaning back in her seat and gesturing to Aster, giving him a nudge. ‘I’m just trying to convince Bunny that he should come round to the studio and actually see people rather than being a hermit as usual. You’d think he’d take after his namesake and be _social_.’

‘“Bunny”?’ Jack repeated with a grin, walking over and sitting on the arm of the sofa next to him. Aster dropped his head and swore.

‘Tooth, ye’ve given him ammo against me. Why have ye given him ammo against me?’ he groaned, rubbing his face. Tooth smiled brightly.

‘Ooh, in that case I have _plenty_ more than just your nickname to give him. I can tell him about the time you and North--’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Aster said quickly. Tooth grinned; there was mischief written across her face that could easily rival Jack’s. Aster mock glared at her. ‘I don’t know which “North and me” story yer about t’ run yer gob off wi’, but I’m pretty sure 95% o’ them are not fer repeating after only two weeks o’ dating someone. Behave woman.’

‘I always behave!’ she pouted. ‘Just depends on whether I behave badly or not. Now come round and see North! He’s been pining for you like a sailor’s wife. You’d think you were married to him and not me.’

‘I’ve got work to do woman,’ Aster argued, gesturing around him. ‘And I socialise. I have Jack here.’

‘Hi!’ Jack grinned, waving cheerfully. Tooth pouted, undaunted.

‘You’re nearly finished, anyway. You know you’ll just spend the next few weeks nit-picking over everything. We might as well see you before you hole yourself up completely for that time,’ Tooth argued determinedly, refusing to back down. ‘Plus, you need a break and it takes more than one cute boy to count as socialising.’

Aster sighed, scratching the back of his neck. ‘I take breaks.’

‘So take one,’ Tooth suggested, and glanced at Jack. ‘Jack can come along as well.’

‘Wait, what?’ Jack suddenly looked at Tooth, shaking his head and waved his hands. ‘No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to. I can just wander away and see Aster tomorrow.’

Aster looked at Jack thoughtfully. ‘What would ya be doin’ today if ya don’t come along?’

Jack shrugged. ‘Nothing really. Maybe try to catch an hour or two of busking, but other than that...’

He shrugged again, burying his hands into his hoodie pockets. Aster looked thoughtful, scratching his two day stubble. Jack knew he was conflicted; he didn’t want to send Tooth or Jack away with his choice, but he also had to consider what taking him along like what Tooth offered meant. Jack knew there was a little kid – Tooth’s daughter - at the studio, and he knew the concerns that weren’t being voiced by either Aster or Tooth, however polite she had been in inviting him along. He was a stranger, a homeless boy – not even that, a young man – and he couldn’t be trusted, especially not with a little kid.

He decided he’d make the choice easier for Aster, and stood up in one easy motion. ‘Well, I’ll head off now. I’ll catch you tomorrow, yeah, Aster?’

‘Come along with us,’ Aster said, looking up at Jack. Tooth threw her hands up in the air in victory, grinning widely and bounced out of her chair, grabbing Jack and Aster and pulling them towards the door.

‘Come on, come on,’ she encouraged when they didn’t move. ‘I’ll text North and let him know we’re coming, he’ll probably order something in. Come on.’

‘Okay, okay sheila,’ Aster sighed and stood up. Tooth dropped their arms and He looped one of his around Jack’s shoulders, trapping him against his body as he followed Tooth over to the door, grabbing his leather jacket and his keys from the back of the chair and the sideboard on his way.

‘You honestly don’t have to bring me along, if you don’t want to,’ Jack muttered.

‘Wouldn’t have asked if we weren’t happy with it Frostbite,’ Aster replied, before calling ahead to his over-cheerful friend. ‘We’re coming, Toothy.’

* * *

Jack had seen photographs of Tooth’s and North’s studio from his Google search: it was huge and modern and impressive, white walls and polished metal, three stories high with their home being the top floor. It occupied the corner of Claussen Road on an expanse of its own land, the front of shop facing the road and the back most likely a private garden.

They followed Tooth through the front doors, and she paused by the receptionist, double checking her schedule before she ushered them through to the main room, which was basically the photography studio: pure white walls and minimal furnishings, large windows allowing the sunlight to flood in with the black-out blinds pulled back. Tooth’s equipment dominated the floor space, wires tangling among each other and protective containers for all the bits and pieces piled high on the walls, cameras set up on tripods crowding around a backdrop for someone to stand in and a laptop set up in the corner, connected to the cameras. Jack looked up to the ceiling and saw lights similar to what the club had: it all reminded him of a theatre before a performance: all they needed now were the people.

‘North is upstairs,’ Tooth said, heading towards the door at the back of the room. Aster and Jack followed her, Aster keeping hold of Jack’s hand – Jack wondered if he thought Jack was going to bolt or if he just didn’t realise what he was doing. Either way, he laced his fingers with Aster’s paint stained ones and let him be led up the stairs.

They bypassed a door leading onto what looked like a very cluttered workshop, sample frames hanging from the wall and sunlight streaming onto the sawdust-stained wooden floor and glinting off the metal of the machines. Jack only caught a glimpse inside before Aster reached out and closed it completely with a click.

‘Don’t think that get’s him off the hook, Bunny,’ Tooth said over her shoulder.

‘Well, I tried,’ he replied with a smile as they wandered past a short corridor with a door at the end of it and up to the third floor and into her home.

‘We’re back,’ she called out, swinging the door shut behind them as they entered the apartment.

It reminded Jack of Aster’s a lot, the same open plan kitchen and lounge areas, with a dining area parallel to the long island that marked the beginning of the kitchen. A large glass sliding door opened out onto a large balcony – veranda, Jack thought it was called, with the shaded canopy overhead – overlooking the garden Jack had guessed they had. It was elevated; the ground at different levels around the studio, so Jack figured the door at the end of the corridor near the workshop led out onto it.

Everything looked like it had come straight from the pages of a “Your Home” magazine, creams and tans and beiges dominating the lounge, with tables and chairs in the dining area made of glossy dark wood and the kitchen gleaming with black work tops and chrome appliances. The only thing that stopped it from being in one of those magazines were the toys and colouring books and tea sets that were scattered across the lounge carpet, the cushions on the sofas and chair in disarray like someone had been climbing over them, blankets draped between them creating a make shift fort. The large TV was decorated with stuffed animals flopped over the top of it - same with the music system and coffee table and from the corridor leading down to the back of the apartment where the bathroom and bedrooms likely were, a small blur of colour barrelled through, straight towards Aster.

‘Bunny!’ the mini version of Tooth cried happily, and Aster let go of Jack’s hand and crouched down to scoop up the little girl with fly away hair and waving arms. One side was braided, the other still long and loose down her back, forgotten about. She wrapped her arms around Aster’s neck as he lifted her up, setting her comfortably on his hip.

‘Completely ignores me,’ Tooth said to Jack with a dramatic sigh. ‘Only has eyes for Bunny.’

Jack chuckled, watching the two as Tooth headed down the corridor her mini-version had just came out of.

‘Bunny, Bunny, I drew a picture in class and I used paint like you do and the teacher said it was the best in class and hung it on the wall and I got a gold star because it was so good and when we have parent teacher night I’ll bring it home and show you,’ she gabbled all in the one breath, a big smile on her face.

‘She’s like a little version of Tooth, a Baby-Tooth. Takes after her, huh?’ Jack asked, surprised and impressed with the little kid.

‘I’d love t’ see it, sheila! Ya really get a gold star? Yer gonna end up being one o’ my biggest competition soon enough, huh? I’ll have ta watch out for you, so ye don’t steal all my customers,’ Aster replied. He looked over at Jack with a grin, nodding.

‘Yep, goes a hundred miles an hour, just like her mum, ain’t that right?’ Aster directed the last part directly to the young girl.

‘Oh! I’m the fastest ever! Everyone raced at break time and we all lined up on one side of the playground both girls and boys and we ran so fast and the first one to the big tree was the fastest and I’m the fastest! Well, I’m the fastest girl, but everyone was really impressed, even the boys! But guess what Bunny, we had gymnastics in gym class, and I managed to climb the rope higher than anyone else in class! _Even_ the boys and I wanted to jump from rope to rope like a monkey but the teacher said it would be too dangerous even though I _know_ I could do it because I’m really good at the jungle gym but instead I swung on the monkey bars upside down and then everyone copied me and we all pretended to be monkeys.’

‘You are a little monkey!’ Aster exclaimed, tickling her sides. She squealed with laughter, wiggling and squirming in his arms. ‘Nope, yer not getting away ya wee monkey—’

‘WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT LEAVING THE WORKSHOP DOOR OPEN?’

Aster instantly stopped and winced, Jack grimacing alongside him, looking over his shoulder to where Tooth had disappeared down.

‘Uh oh,’ Baby-Tooth said. ‘Daddy is in trouble.’

‘Yep,’ Aster said, nodding.

‘DON’T TRY SWEET TALKING ME IN RUSSIAN!’

‘How about we have some ice cream?’ Aster suggested, making his way over to the kitchen. ‘Come on, Jack.’

‘Yeah!’ Baby-Tooth agreed enthusiastically. ‘I want sprinkles, and chocolate chips and strawberry sauce!’

‘Your mother would kill me,’ Aster said, setting her down on stool at the island and heading for the fridge-freezer. ‘Alright.’

‘Yay!’

‘Wow, she has you twisted round her little finger,’ Jack laughed, sliding onto the seat next to Baby Tooth. She stood up on the chair and tugged on his hoodie sleeve to steady herself. He turned, resting one arm on the back of the seat and the other on the counter top, ready to catch her if she fell. ‘Okay, little Baby Tooth?’

‘Yep, Bunny always gives me presents, and lets me have ice cream,’ she said. ‘But he always makes me promise to brush my teeth so mommy doesn’t get mad at me.’

‘It’s no you yer ma would be angry at,’ Aster said, sliding a bowl piled high with ice cream in front of her. They could still hear Tooth yelling down the hall, thoroughly chastising her husband over his irresponsibility. ‘Wanna move this out onto the veranda? It’s still a nice day out.’

‘Yep.’ Baby Tooth agreed, sliding off her chair between Jack’s arms onto the floor. She tugged at the hem of his hoodie insistently and pointed at her bowl of ice cream. ‘Ice cream, please.’

‘Sure,’ he said, handing it down to her.

‘Wait for us, Amita,’ Aster said, handing a bowl to Jack. ‘You want anything on yours?’

‘Nah, I’m good,’ he replied, taking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. Aster dished himself out a few scoops and returned the tub to the freezer, grabbed his bowl and headed over to unlock the glass doors out to the veranda. Jack followed him, the wood cool beneath his bare feet. To the side was a set of stairs behind a gate, twisting round down to the garden below. Baby Tooth sat down next to the tall wooden poles of the balustrade, leaning her back against them and pulling the toys that were scattered around towards her, sitting them up in a circle and started to pretend feed them ice cream.

Jack sat down on one of the chairs, and Aster took a seat beside him, bumping knees with him as he kept an eye on Baby Tooth – Amita, he had called her. She tucked her hair behind her ear, the still-loose side.

‘Hey, Baby Tooth,’ he asked. ‘Do you want me to braid your hair so it doesn’t get in your ice cream?’

‘You know how to braid?’ she asked, looking up at him. He set his bowl down beside his chair and nodded. He had gotten plenty of practice with Pippa and Cupcake and Sophie, until the two older girls had asked him to cut it for them with a pair of kitchen scissors. He understood: it hindered them while getting money day to day – something psychological about girls getting more positive attention with long hair compared to short hair - but it also stopped them getting unwanted attention from Winter’s employees. They were always on the lookout for young, fresh faces to “promote” – and there were only a few areas girls could specialise in. With Cupcake and Pippa getting older, they had to make sure they stayed under the radar.

‘Jack? Frostbite?’

Jack was suddenly aware of Aster staring at him, concerned and he realised his hands were clenched into fists. He relaxed quickly, flexing his fingers. He needed to keep his head; it was the only way to protect the kids.

‘I’m alright,’ he said with an easy smile, before turning to Baby Tooth. ‘So, hair braids?’

‘Yep,’ she said, shifting away from the bars to allow him to sit behind her. Obviously he had to go to her. He wandered over and sat down cross legged with his back to the bars, running his fingers through her dark brown hair to untangle the knots.

‘You seem to know yer way about kids,’ Aster commented. Jack smiled, used to the fishing game people always used to try and get answers.

‘Yeah, came across them often enough,’ he replied vaguely. ‘What about you?’

‘Nah,’ Aster said, shaking his head. ‘There’s just Amita. I’m her godfather, so it’s like having my own kid.’

‘You never have younger siblings?’ Jack asked, realising he hardly knew anything about Aster or his life except for his google search, which had told him he didn’t have any family, but that could mostly be a lack of information than him having none what so ever. Everyone started off with a family, even orphan nobodies like Jack who couldn’t even remember them if they tried. He shook his head of those thoughts, figured playing the fishing game couldn’t hurt.

‘Aye, my parents had a whole brood of ‘em,’ Aster snorted, shaking his head. ‘I was the third eldest out of nine, back in Australia.’

Jack stared at him in shock. There was no way a Google search wouldn’t turn up something like that. He wracked his brain, trying to recall news articles from when Aster was young, when he had first entered the spot light. The early articles had mentioned his parents briefly, and that was it: as a young child, any brothers and sisters had probably been kept away from the spotlight. But... ‘ _Nine_?’

Aster smiled tightly, without anything real behind it, and nodded. ‘Yep. An older brother and sister – she was the eldest out of all of us and then there were four younger brothers and two younger sisters. My brothers and I were always rough housing w’ each other when we were younger, wasn’t a day went by that one o’ us didn’t have a busted lip or bloodied nose. Looked after our little sisters though: a few of the lads that came calling fer them got a bit more than a busted lip and bloody nose, I tell ye that.’

‘So, where are they all?’ Jack asked tentatively, threading Amita’s hair over and under itself. The Google search had turned up _nothing_ on his family: number of relatives or what they did or where they were or if they were even alive. Aster shrugged.

‘Some o’ them are still over in Australia, some of ‘em moved to Europe. I keep in contact with a few of ‘em, but we don’t see each other.’

‘How come?’ Jack asked, and a dark look crossed Aster’s face. Jack winced, realising he had unwittingly stepped over some line. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—’

‘Its fine, Frostbite,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Just not something for a lazy day conversation is all.’

Jack nodded, and focused on braiding Baby Tooth’s hair as she ate her ice cream, sharing it among her stuffed toys.

‘Everyone comfy out here?’ Tooth asked, leaning against the door jamb. North stood behind her, looking guilty.

‘Everything alright, Tooth?’ Aster asked in return. Tooth rolled her eyes, elbowing North lightly.

‘Yeah, just had to be the nagging wife again,’ she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

‘You are not nagging,’ North protested, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek.

‘You’re just saying that so I stop being mad at you,’ she said with a smile.

‘I shall also say you are sweetest wife in the world, then,’ he chuckled and they stepped out to join the others. ‘Ah, I see you have finished my handiwork. You must be Jack.’

‘Yes sir. I didn’t want her to get ice cream in her hair is all,’ Jack replied politely, nodding to North in greeting. He had slipped into easy informality with Tooth as soon as she introduced herself, but like Aster, Nicholas St. North made an intimidating figure despite his likeness to a popular holiday spirit. Jack wanted to play it safe.

‘Ah, none of “sir” nonsense; friends call me North,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively of the formality and took a seat on the other side of Aster. Tooth joined Amita and Jack on the floor.

‘Ice cream and chocolate and strawberry sauce,’ Tooth listed, looking over her shoulder at Aster. ‘Bunny...’

‘She forced me to,’ he replied easily, with a smile. ‘There were some pretty intense negotiations going on, I had ta give her what she wanted else there would have been casualties. I had no choice.’

‘Ah, I have been in that situation many times,’ North said solemnly, nodding. ‘I understand the difficulties you faced.’

Aster shared a grin with his friend, trying to hide it from Tooth as she threw her hands up in the air, exasperated with the pair of them.

‘Honestly, you two may as well marry each other and play house,’ she said. ‘And I’ll ride off into the sunset with a hot young biker.’

‘I volunteer,’ Jack joked, before he caught up with what he just said and looked up, horrified as they stared at him. ‘I mean—’

Tooth suddenly snorted, covering her mouth as she laughed. North and Aster joined in, Aster struggling not to choke on his ice cream. Tooth shifted over to sit beside Jack and looped her arms around his shoulders. ‘Well, this works out perfectly: Bunny get’s my hubby, I get his boyfriend. Fair is fair.’

‘Yeah, except I have to warn you now, it wouldn’t be a motorcycle,’ Jack said with a mock grimace. ‘It’s more along the lines of the manual powered variety.’

‘Aw, never mind,’ Tooth smiled. ‘We can just get one of those two-person bikes and steal away into the night.’

‘I’d pay money ta see that go badly wrong,’ Aster laughed. ‘Since I don’t think you even know how ta ride a bike?’

‘Look, it was a traumatic experience that proved my feet are meant to be firmly on the ground - and if either of you even _think_ about making _that_ kind of comment in front of my daughter you’ll both be going over the side head first,’ she tacked on quickly, jabbing her thumb towards the balustrade. The two older men raised their hands in a sign of truce, knowing better than to cross Mama-Tooth. Jack laughed at the look on their faces, enjoying the easy banter that bounced back and forth between them.

‘It’s okay, Tooth,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll find another way to elope.’

Tooth clapped her hands happily. ‘I love a man with a plan.’

‘I don’t,’ North said, wagging his finger at Jack. ‘No trying to steal away wife.’

‘Do I end up on the naughty list?’ Jack joked, and that set off Tooth once again into a fit of giggles. North laughed alongside her and Aster just looked surprised.

‘I didn’t know you could read Russian,’ he said, pointing at North’s tattoos.

‘Uh, I don’t,’ Jack said, scratching his head sheepishly. ‘He just... looks like Santa Claus.’

‘Yes, that’s about right,’ North chuckled, patting his large belly. ‘Is a nickname I have had since I was young man. Don’t know how it came about, but it stuck, so I decided to make it official. Amita always says Santa is her daddy around the holidays, always gets me to play part when visiting school. It helps to have these as well, for authenticity.’

He raised his arms, showing off the two words sprawled across his forearm – Naughty and Nice, it seemed. ‘So, yes, top of naughty list for trying to steal away Mrs Claus.’

‘I will never let you use that as a nickname!’ Tooth laughed, lightly tapping North’s knee.

‘It’s either that or the Tooth Fairy,’ Aster shrugged, setting his empty bowl down next to him. ‘Yer name doesn’t do you many favours in that.’

‘Try calling me the Tooth Fairy and I will forever introduce you as the Easter Bunny,’ she said sweetly.

‘Wouldn’t he be the Easter Kangaroo, with his accent?’ Jack tacked on with a grin, enjoying the look of horror on Aster’s face and the chorus of laughter around him as he finished Baby Tooth’s braid.

‘Tooth! Ye give him too much ammo!’

‘Do you have a hair bobble?’ Jack asked Baby Tooth, as the adults teased each other back and forth – Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy and Eater Bunny getting bantered back and forth. She set her empty bowl down and reached over to a unicorn toy, untying the blue ribbon from around its neck.

‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Mr Rainbow doesn’t mind.’

‘Thank you, Mr Rainbow,’ Jack said with a grin, tying her hair up. She smiled, shaking her head back and forth to test the hold. It stuck, passing her test and she leaned back against Jack, hugging him. He half hugged her back, his hands just resting on her shoulders. He caught Aster staring at him, a warm look in his eyes, and he smiled hesitantly, releasing Baby Tooth. ‘I need to get my ice cream, I’ll be right back.’

‘Oh, Sanderson can be the Sandman!’ Tooth suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands. ‘Then we’ll have a whole set!’

‘Yer getting far too into this,’ Aster laughed as he reached down and handed Jack’s bowl to him. ‘You’ll have him as Jack Frost next.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Tooth asked, and they all missed the way Jack’s head shot up in surprise before he wandered back and sat beside Baby Tooth, letting her lean on him as she played with her stuffed animals, introducing them to him between spoonfuls of half melted ice cream.

‘Sandman, Santa, Easter Bunny, Jack Frost and the amazing Tooth Fairy,’ Tooth reeled off brightly with a wink. ‘We sound like such an awesome superhero team.’

‘Can I be a superhero?’ Baby Tooth asked, looking up interested.

‘Of course you can darling,’ Tooth said, lying down on her stomach facing Baby Tooth and Jack. ‘You’re my superhero already; we might as well make it official. You even have a superhero name Jack gave you.’

‘I’m a superhero Baby Tooth!’ she said proudly. ‘Just like my mommy!’

‘Yeah! Tooth Fairy and Baby Tooth: crime fighting duo extraordinaire!’ Tooth laughed. Jack grinned, cheering and commentating like a news reporter as Baby Tooth jumped up and ran around the veranda, pretending to fly and fight bad guys. She flopped down on top of Tooth and Tooth rolled them over, hugging her daughter close.

‘You married this woman,’ Aster deadpanned, turning to North.

‘Yes, yes, I did,’ he said fondly. ‘And you are being with that boy.’

‘Yeah, I am,’ Aster smiled, slouching down in his seat as conversation continued throughout the afternoon into the early evening, Jack jumping between the conversation and helping Baby Tooth – now fully attached to the nickname - act out games with her stuffed animals until she had to be put to bed. She made Jack promise to sing to her another time before she finally settled down, and he promised Tooth and North to come back with Bunny another time to meet with Sanderson as well. They were already planning a pre-exhibit dinner to celebrate, and invited Jack along. Jack agreed, and Tooth hugged him tightly, looking very tired and frayed around the edges, but Jack figured dealing with North, Bunny, him and Baby Tooth was a handful and a bit.

They walked home, Jack automatically following Bunny back to his and they wandered up to his apartment, exhausted.

‘They’re really nice,’ Jack said, and Bunny nodded, the door swinging shut behind him. He tossed his keys onto the side table, shrugging off his leather jacket and yawned.

‘Yeah, it was a good day for Tooth,’ he said, scratching his hand through his hair and flopped down on the sofa tiredly, letting his head fall back against the back of it.

‘I think it was good day for everyone,’ Jack said, coming over and flopping down on the sofa beside him. ‘At least, I hope it was.’

‘They really liked ya, mate. Ya fit right in,’ Bunny said, and Jack smiled, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back against the back of the sofa, mimicking Bunny. He buried his hands in his hoodie pockets and slid down further till he was comfortable.

‘Okay,’ he hummed quietly, and cracked an eye open, watching as Bunny rearranged himself on the sofa next to him, turning till his back rested against the arm of the sofa. He pulled his legs up close to his chest and slouched till he was comfortable, letting his head fall back against the curve of the sofa. He looked down through thick eyelashes, catching Jack staring.

‘What?’

Jack shook his head wordlessly, something aching in chest. He shifted himself till he could crawl up the sofa to lie next to Bunny. The Australian stretched his legs out and raised one arm so Jack could rest his head on his chest, throwing one skinny leg over Bunny’s. He wrapped his arm around Jack’s shoulders and slouched further down the sofa till he was comfortable and slid one hand behind his head, resting it there.

‘What?’ Bunny repeated, and Jack shook his head again, pressing his cheek against his chest. His whole day from start to finish had left him reeling: the conversation he had with Satu had unwittingly forced him to realise that somehow, he had separated Bunny from his job. He wasn’t just his next score, he wasn’t just his and the kids ticket out of here, he was... well, he was Bunny, and Jack was trying to figure out how he progressed from “Aster” to “Bunny” as well.

He had named Jack. His whole life he’d just been Jack, on the streets at such a young age he couldn’t remember any family or even his full name, he’d just been Jack and then, almost casually, Bunny had given him something. Okay, so it was the name from a kid’s fairy tale, but that wasn’t the point. It kind of suited him, to be fair, with his pale skin and white hair, his big blue eyes and his freezing cold skin that he loved to press up against Bunny’s, soaking up his heat.

He had said more than once that they were dating, like this was a real relationship, one that he wanted to hold onto. Jack didn’t know how to even begin unravelling what that meant for him.

Then there was the North’s. Tooth was amazing: wonder woman in floaty, colourful skirts who snorted when she laughed and looked after everyone around her and North really was Santa Claus, kind and caring but still firm, especially concerning bed times. They had accepted Jack so easily into their home and their circle of friends, and if they had watched him with suspicion or apprehension around Baby Tooth, they had done it subtly enough that he hadn’t noticed. He had just felt like, like he was a part of their family. It left him in a jumble, torn between his loyalty to the kids and the dream of staying with Bunny, being taken care of by him, becoming a part of his family.

Speaking of which...

‘Bunny?’ he murmured. He had to focus; he had to do what was needed to protect the kids. Bunny looked down at him, stroking his thumb over his shoulder soothingly.

‘Yeah, mate?’

‘I was just wondering, I’m sorry, about what you were saying earlier,’ he began hesitantly; worried Bunny would become angry with him. Because Bunny being angry with him was detrimental to the job, it wasn’t because he cared. He couldn’t afford to care. He wouldn’t.

‘I said a lot of things earlier, mate,’ he replied. ‘Gonna have ta be more specific.’

‘About your family,’ he explained, and felt Bunny’s grip on him tighten minutely. He winced, quickly explaining. It was just to get more information on him, expose his weaknesses, and get the job done: he had to remember that, he had stay focused on that. ‘When I Google searched you last Monday, I couldn’t find anything about your family. There wasn’t any mention of your parents or siblings or anything, so when you said you had nine brothers and sisters, I was just... I’m sorry, I don’t mean to...’

‘Nah, Frostbite, don’t worry yersel’,’ he sighed, scratching his head with his free hand. ‘It’s not exactly a secret around the others, I just don’t talk about my family in public an’ in most of their cases I don’t even talk _to_ them. I haven’t seen or spoken to my folks since I was sixteen, when they kicked my arse to the curb cause they found out I was bisexual. Which, fer some reason, was worse in my da’s eyes cause to him, yer either one or the other, but same result at the end o’ the day. Anyway, most of ‘em agreed with his way o’ seeing things... I got more than a busted lip and a bloody nose from a few of my brother’s cause o’ that.’

Jack tightened his grip on Bunny, and Bunny hugged him closer, rubbing his fingers across his shoulder and back lazily. Jack could feel the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat beneath his t-shirt: he wasn’t even angry or upset while he was telling the story, he just told it as it was.

‘With the money I was getting from art shows and auctions and everything in between, I was able to set mysel’ up comfortable enough with some mates but... even a fucking continent between me and them wasn’t enough. I saved up, got my arse over here and started afresh. Don’t speak about or to my parents and my siblings, and as far as I’m aware they don’t speak about me back home and I’m happy with that just fine.’

‘There’s a few, I mean, I still talk to, over Skype and email,’ he added. ‘My younger siblings Ethan and Ava – they’re twins - and my youngest sister Grace, she looked me up a few years back. She was only two or three when I was booted out. I don’t really see them, though - it’s still a bit of a strain on everyone, ya know?’

‘Yeah, I get that,’ Jack said quietly. He pressed himself closer to him, though at this point it was near impossible to get any closer. ‘I’m sorry, Bunny.’

Bunny shrugged. ‘Not your fault. Not even your problem; it just is what it is.’

‘You’re my problem,’ Jack replied instantly. Aster smiled, cocking an eyebrow as Jack looked up at him intently.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said, a lump caught in his throat as he formed the words. Because he was just lying, it wasn’t what he was feeling, wasn’t what he really wanted to say to the Australian. ‘You’re my problem; your problems are my problems, which is a really big problem for me because this is not what I signed up when I started serenading you with as many suggestive songs as I could think of and I –’

He was cut off by Bunny drawing him close, pressing his lips against Jack’s softly. Jack kissed him back, shifting his body till he lay directly on top of Bunny, reaching up and carding his fingers through his short wavy grey-streaked hair. Bunny looped one arm around Jack, pinning him to his chest. He reached up with his free hand and cupped his cheek, stroking his thumb lightly across Jack’s cheek as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t sexual; Jack knew that, it was just the two of them being close to each other, becoming each other’s problem more and more with every passing second. For the moment though, Jack didn’t care about anything else except being close to Bunny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a chapter titled "Porn Star Dancing", this chapter ended up being far fluffier than I anticipated.
> 
> Next Chapter: Enemies
> 
> 'No.'
> 
> 'What did you say?'
> 
> 'I said no. I can't imagine there's a lot of variations that could simplify it any more than that.'


	4. Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's starting to feel cornered and he doesn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Enemies by Shinedown
> 
> This story is looking to be more than ten chapters long, closer to fifteen. If it reaches twenty I'm probably gonna cry and flip a table OTL
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :)

Jack sighed, stretching his arms as he headed into the Goldmine. It was late evening, had spent the last week and a half busking to gather some extra funds – had managed to squirrel away another hundred. He’d checked on the kids, made sure they’d had dinner and checked Sophie’s progress with math before they had clocked out for the night, bidding Jack goodnight. There hadn’t been any further incidents with Winter and the kids, much to Jack’s relief – the less they were on Winter’s radar, the better it was for everyone. Better to keep the two businessmen focused on Jack’s job than anyone else.

He’d been keeping Winter and Rumpelstiltskin updated with his progress, laying out a plan in order to steal the auction’s income. Since Aster’s artwork tended to have several zero’s tagged at the end of it, there was hardly going to be anyone carrying that amount of money on them in notes. Bank transfer was most likely the way money would be exchanged, so it had been decided that a few computer experts under Winter’s employment would infiltrate and set up their own network, drawing the money straight to Winter’s multiple accounts spread out across the map.

He squashed the feeling of guilt down, only to have it settle heavily in the pit of his stomach, leaving him feeling nauseated and wrecked. Great. It was getting more and more difficult to lie to himself; pretend Bunny was just his ticket out of town and not something else entirely, something Jack couldn’t risk letting himself have. It hurt him too much, wanting Bunny, wanting to feel safe. He had the kids to take care of, had to keep them safe before himself; he had to get them out of here as soon as possible and the only way he was going to do that was with money.

Bunny’s money.

He hissed out a breath of frustration. There had been another reason for returning to busking, needing space away from Bunny. Avoiding him, really. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Bunny in the last ten days. Jack had tried to limit the time spent around Bunny to running errands for him, down to Sandy's art supply store or picking up groceries because the idiot forgot to leave his apartment until he had nothing except a slice of cheese and a half empty water bottle left. Except somehow, they always ended up in bed together, for sex, for make outs, and once they didn't do anything - just laid there in silence listening to each other breathe.

Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, scratching the nape of his neck. Things had definitely changed between them over the few weeks since Bunny had cornered him in the park and threatened to drag him to the cops: he wasn’t so brusque or distrustful of Jack, he was actually really sweet at times, under his gruff exterior and when they were together, Bunny settled in the cradle of Jack’s legs, he acted... like Jack was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, like he deserved to be treasured and taken care of.

He tried to convince himself that it was just money. That Bunny could make it back, that he had plenty in the bank. It wasn’t just about the money though: Jack was going to steal from him, betray his trust. He was going to leave.

He hadn’t thought much about life beyond the train ride out of the city, preferably right across the country if the money would stretch that far. He hadn’t considered until recently that when he left, he was leaving people behind, people he cared about and, he believed, cared about him. He wouldn’t have time to leave them answers, an explanation – maybe he could scribble a quick note but how much would he be able to say in a few short pages?

What would Bunny think of him after he found out the truth?

Jack pushed through the double doors into the lounge with more force than necessary, squashing thoughts of Bunny down. The Goldmine was packed – rich men sprawled across the plush furniture or seated at the bar, the women who worked at the Goldmine weaving their way through the crowd easily with a smile painted on their lips and a gentle swing in their hips with every step they took in their shiny heels. Music pulsated through the air: Satu and several other dancers up on stage, only just out of reach from the patrons, swinging around poles and sliding across the stage.

The blonde looked beautiful in red, the crimson streaks of material a stark contrast against her pale skin. She caught sight of him and her blood red lips pulled back into a smile. He couldn’t be sure at this distance, but he was sure she winked at him in greeting.

Others noticed his presence – security dotted around the room muttered into their walkie-talkies, and one of the personnel wove through the crowd towards him. Darcy, the only person other than Satu whom he was close to, was part of Rumpelstiltskin’s security at the Goldmine and was always the one who escorted him around the place when required.

She was midway across the room towards him when her wrist was grabbed, and she whirled round on the man reaching out to her. Her lips moved, ordering him to let her go, her brow drawn tight in annoyance and disgust. The men sitting around laughed, and a few of the girls tried to draw their attention away. Jack couldn’t see properly over the crowd, the girls striding back and forth around the place, blocking his view but he saw a glimpse of the man’s free hand reaching out, much lower.

There was a sudden crash, the smash of glass clinking across wood ringing out through the lounge and the girls in the close vicinity shrieked with surprise, scampering away as Darcy twisted the man’s arm behind his back painfully, pushing his face into the dark, solid wood. He couldn’t catch if she was saying anything, and he started over to the table when Darcy dragged the man up roughly despite the fact he had the height and weight advantage over her. She pulled him forward and marched him to the door leading to the kitchens, the fire exit leading out into the alleyway just before the main entrance to the kitchens. The other men at the table shouted angrily after her, and she flipped the bird over her shoulder as two of the security team finally decided to intervene and calm the situation.

The men were storming their way past Jack, cursing at the security guard escorting them out and threatening repercussions towards Darcy when the dark-skinned woman wandered back in, flicking a stray lock of hair over her shoulder as she strode over to Jack, unfazed by the sudden excitement stirred up.

‘Hey there, Jack,’ she greeted, smiling easily at him.

‘Hiya, Darcy. Busy night?’ Jack asked. She laughed.

‘Nah, it’s slow going tonight,’ she said, beckoning him to follow as she headed across the room to the door that led to the private rooms. On the very top floor of the building was Rumpelstiltskin’s office, away from the too loud music and allowing him to conduct business on his own territory. It gave him the upper hand when making deals. Jack followed her up the stairs, eschewing the elevator.

‘Satu told me you broke someone’s jaw a few weeks ago,’ he said, smiling up at her. She scoffed.

‘I just dislocated it is all,’ she replied breezily, waving him off. She tightened her ponytail, trying to contain her wild mane of curly black hair away from her face. It was impossible to stuff into a bun or tame it into a braid, so she kept it in pulled back with two scrunchies and sheer determination. She picked some stray strands from her fingerless gloves and flicked them away, flexing her fingers. While Satu was willowy: long limbs and tiny waist, Darcy was curvier and packed more muscle on her bones, the material of her t shirt clinging to the curve of her toned biceps and stretching over her hips. She could easily knock someone around if she wanted to, and had proven it time and again.

‘Satu told me about your big score,’ Darcy said suddenly, blunt and Jack winced. Darcy’s sharp grey eyes narrowed, perceptive. It seemed odd that Darcy and Satu were such close friends when they were at odds with each other, like inverted mirror images: Satu evaded, flicked over the details with a charming laugh and shake of her head, while Darcy focused on them, observant and searching. She had worked at the Goldmine for as long as Satu had, and while they were friends, Jack knew as much about Darcy as he did about Satu. He could guess some things though; he was good at picking up on details as well, like the pale, jagged scar that ran up the inside of her left arm, vibrant against her darker skin tone, or the way her eyes hardened whenever someone mentioned family.

‘Yeah, well,’ Jack said, avoiding her eyes and scuffing his foot across the carpet. ‘I had to move up in ranks some time.’

‘Hmm,’ Darcy hummed noncommittally. It wasn’t exactly a secret she disagreed with Winter’s or Rumpelstiltskin’s practices, and it brought up questions as to why she was there to begin with. She had kept her job this long, though, despite her opinionated “talks” with Rumpelstiltskin. ‘Feeling confident about it?’

‘... Of course,’ Jack lied, and Darcy smiled, and Jack knew she could tell he was bullshitting.

‘So, Winter gonna give you a big fat pay check if it all goes to plan?’

‘It’ll go to plan,’ Jack said quickly, anxiety suddenly rocking him as the realisation hit him: if he fails, the kids will suffer, if he succeeds... the look on Bunny’s face when he realises what Jack did would destroy Jack. He tried to tell himself again it would be worth it. ‘And... yeah, I get a cut of the profit.’

‘You’ll have to get an account set up like Winter’s, hide it all away safely,’ she advised.

‘If I knew how Winter did that, I would,’ Jack replied, and Darcy nodded. They said no more as they reached the top floor. Darcy nodded to the two guards standing either side of the door, and one stepped away, relieved from their duty by Darcy. She knocked on the polished white door firmly, and there was a command to enter. Darcy went in first, informed Rumpelstiltskin of Jack’s presence, and Jack slipped around her into the room.

Darcy shut the door behind him wordlessly, and Jack instantly noticed Old Man Winter was absent. Rumpelstiltskin sat behind the dark wooden desk in the minimalist room: the walls and carpet were white and cream, the furniture dark with no additional furnishings. Floor to ceiling one-way windows stretched across one wall, allowing them to look out at the busy street below but hid them from view. Jack knew they were bullet resistant.

‘Mr Winter couldn’t join us, this evening?’ Jack said, as civilly as he could. He hated being alone with Rumpelstiltskin, the man’s presence making his skin crawl. The criminal smiled, his black-hole eyes boring into Jack’s.

‘He is attending to other business, this evening,’ he replied, straightening his tie and leaning back in his seat. He didn’t offer Jack to sit – a deliberate slight, something he wouldn’t do if Old Man Winter had been around.

While it had never been said aloud, Jack knew Rumpelstiltskin hated him as much as he hated Rumpelstiltskin, and did everything he could to let Jack know. It was a rare occasion that Jack was grateful he was Winter’s golden boy: Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t touch him, not directly. Jack knew it pissed the man off.

‘Shall we get started then?’ Jack replied, burying his hands into his jean pockets: his own show of disrespect in the gesture’s informality. Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth tightened at the corners, his brow dropped into a glare. Jack smiled amiably, feigning innocence.

‘Take a seat, Jack,’ Rumpelstiltskin said shortly, pulling files out of one the drawers behind the desk as Jack sank into the chair opposite him. ‘Let’s begin, then, shall we?’

The next hour was a waste of Jack’s time: they didn’t cover any new ground, any additional personnel required were already chosen and making progress on their equipment and false identities, the blueprints of the exhibition were up to date and memorised, the escape routes planned and would be scouted out next week. Jack began to think it was a deliberate ploy by Rumpelstiltskin to annoy him when he snapped the files closed and leaned back in the chair, staring at Jack. There was something scheming in his expression, more so than usual, and Jack didn’t like it.

‘Is there any new information Mr Winter or yourself require?’ Jack asked, casual. He wanted out of there as fast as possible, the evening having dragged on long enough.

Rumpelstiltskin paused, contemplative, stroking his chin. The stretch of time irritated the restlessness in Jack further, and he had to physically control himself not to fidget. ‘What can you tell me about his partner?’

There was a pause. Jack cocked his head to the side, confused. That stilled his rampant thoughts.

‘His partner?’

‘The photographer he collaborates with,’ Rumpelstiltskin elaborated. ‘Her studio is based in the city, she is a renowned photographer; she could easily increase the income significantly –’

‘No,’ he said automatically, cutting.

Rumpelstiltskin blinked, narrowed his eyes at Jack.

‘What did you say?’

'I said no. I can't imagine there's a lot of variations that could simplify it any more than that.'

‘Watch your fucking tongue with me or I’ll string it around your neck,’ Rumpelstiltskin snarled. Jack matched his glare, hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair. His heart jack-hammered against his ribcage, so loud he was sure Rumpelstiltskin could hear it too.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy.

‘It would be a waste of resources,’ Jack said, fighting for calm. His stomach wrapped itself in knots, his mind screamed at him to keep calm, rational.

‘The resources and time it would take to target the photographer as well as Mr. Bunnymund would result in a loss of profit,’ Jack said, bullshitting his way around him as quickly as possible. ‘It’s not worth it.’

‘I’ll decide that.’

‘I’m sure Mr Winter would be very grateful to you for taking on the decision making for the business yourself,’ Jack retorted. ‘It takes the load off of his shoulders, I’m sure he’d appreciate that.’

Rumpelstiltskin glared at Jack, a dangerous look in his black hole eyes.

‘One of these days, Jack, you’re going to end up in your place,’ Rumpelstiltskin warned him. ‘And I’ll be the one to put you there.’

Jack bit his tongue to keep himself from saying else. He could take whatever was dished out at him, but if Rumpelstiltskin decided to target the kids instead, they wouldn’t stand a chance and Jack wasn’t sure he would be able to protect all of them. He looked away, breaking eye contact. Rumpelstiltskin leaned back in his chair; the challenge aborted. He watched Jack carefully.

‘The artist is the priority at the moment,’ he said finally. ‘Any further ventures will be decided in time.’

Jack took what he could get, though it wasn’t a perfect assurance that his interest had turned from Tooth. Rumpelstiltskin said nothing further, swivelling his chair around and Jack took it as a very clear sign for him to leave.

Outside, Darcy stared at him in concern, and he knew his expression must’ve betrayed him. He kept walking, avoiding her eyes and she followed him silently down the hall. It wasn’t till the second floor that she caught up to him, rested her hand on his shoulder supportively.

‘You alright, Jack?’ she asked. Jack nodded automatically, and then shook his head after a brief pause.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said quietly. Her grip tightened on his shoulder. She couldn’t know what he was torn about, not exactly, but she was there for him none the less.

‘I don’t know what to tell you, Jack,’ she said. ‘Best thing I can say is, don’t make any decision you can’t back out of if you need to.’

‘You think I haven’t already? Look where we are,’ he said, sweeping his gaze around them. Something flickered across her face, too fast for him to catch.

‘Where you are right now isn’t where you’re gonna be the rest of your life,’ she said. He stopped, and so did his heart: she couldn’t possibly know about their plans, about them leaving. If she did, there was a chance other’s knew and the risk of the information getting to Old Man Winter or Rumpelstiltskin. They’d be strung up and gutted before they knew it—

\-- She held up her left wrist, showing him her scar. ‘Trust me, where your head is now, isn’t going to be the same place when you’re twenty one, twenty five, thirty, whatever. I don’t think you’ve signed your life away just yet, Jack. You’re one of the good guys – one of the few left, so don’t sell yourself out. Don’t trap yourself with no-out decisions.’

He let out a heavy breath of relief, wiped his face with a shaky hand and nodded, accepting her advice. He started walking again, Darcy falling into step beside him as they carried on down the stairwell.

‘What would you do?’ he asked after a pause. ‘You succeeding, means you screw someone over. You failing means you screw a lot of someone’s over, but you screw yourself over either way.’

‘Ouch,’ she grimaced, clapping one arm around his shoulders. ‘Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.’

‘I’d succeed,’ she replied after a moment consideration, and Jack closed his eyes, sighed resignedly when he suddenly felt her warm breath against his cheek, her dark lips pressed close to his ear. ‘And I’d make sure to screw over the one who deserves it.’

She straightened, and Jack looked up at her, eyes narrowed in confusion. She smiled conspiratorially, squeezed his shoulder before letting her arm drop away, and said nothing more as they entered the lounge again, Jack heading for the exit quickly.

‘Come back round soon, Jack,’ she called after him, and he waved goodbye.

Outside, in the cool autumn evening, he paused at the curb, inhaling deeply to try clearing his head. Thinking back on Darcy’s words, he tried to make sense of them but came up short: the only people who deserved to lose everything were Winter and Rumpelstiltskin, and as much as Jack would love to see that happen, there was no way it was going to.

He felt listless and lost: needed grounding and support, and the only place he could get that was from the one person he was avoiding. He huffed a breath, wrapped his arms around his body as he looked up at the empty sky, the light pollution hiding the stars. At least the moon was out, hanging lazily in the sky, watching the world spin on.

‘You got any ideas?’ he asked it. He received no answer. ‘Yeah, me too.’

He sighed, and headed up the road towards Bunny’s place.

* * *

He figured Bunny would be asleep by the time he got there, that he’d just jimmy the window open, climb into bed with him and go to sleep. Then he’d leave before he even woke up, so he could still say he was avoiding him. Unfortunately, when he climbed to the top of the steps, Bunny was still awake. He was speaking on the phone to someone, leaning forward with his elbows propped up on his knees, his head in one hand. The lamp on the coffee table was the only illumination in the room, painting everything in a soft orange haze.

Jack stood, indecisive by the window, wanting to run to Bunny and run away at the same time. Never make a decision he couldn’t back out of, Darcy had said.

He jimmied the window open and climbed in.

Bunny looked up from where he was sitting, blinking at the sight of Jack at the window. He had bags under his eyes and paint streaked up and down his clothes, on his arms and at his fingertips. He was stressing out about the art exhibition.

‘Nah, North, i's just Jack,’ he said, his voice rough and tired. ‘Nah, I’ll head off soon. Yes, North, I’ll actually sleep... North, shut up an’ go be wi’ yer wife. Give her my love too. Night.’

He dropped the phone onto the table, scratching his fingers through his hair tiredly before he looked up at Jack, letting his arms drop across his knees.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said drily. Jack frowned, staring at Bunny with narrowed eyes. After a week of not seeing each other, that was the first thing Bunny said to him?

‘I can leave if you want,’ he replied, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t move.

‘Well, if you want to avoid me, by all means.’ He gestured to the window behind Jack dismissively, and Jack glared, running his tongue over his teeth.

‘I _am_ avoiding you,’ he retorted, annoyance twisting into anger at Bunny’s indifferent attitude towards him. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want this confrontation right now. All he had wanted was to lie down and forget everything for the few hours he would be asleep in the warmth of Bunny’s bed, the older male stretched out alongside him. It didn’t look like that was happening any time soon.

‘Well, you’re doing a great job at that,’ Bunny smirked, leaning back on the sofa and stretching his arms over the back of it. Jack tutted angrily and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Bunny’s sarcasm.

‘Fuck off, Aster.’

‘My apartment, mate, only one who’d be fucking off is you.’

‘Then go fuck yourself, you must’ve had plenty of practice this week.’

Bunny’s smirk dropped off his face, his attitude cooling and for a second Jack thought he was going to really tear into him. Instead, he sighed, dropping his head against the back of the sofa before he pushed himself up, heading towards the stairs up to the bedroom.

‘Guess you’re in one of those moods,’ he said.

‘What moods?’ Jack demanded. His anger, his guilt, his helplessness boiled up inside him, put him on the defensive: he was looking for a fight now, didn’t want to feel so vulnerable. He needed to prove that he could still handle the situation; that he wasn’t in over his head. He stalked after Bunny determinedly, refusing to be ignored. ‘What the hell do you mean, “one of those moods”? Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you!’

He growled wordlessly, looked around for something to throw and grabbed a tube of paint from one of the sets of drawers next to him, threw it at the Bunny’s back.

Except the lid hadn’t been properly screwed on, or maybe it was just the way it hit Bunny, because green suddenly exploded on his back, and the tube hit the ground with a condemning clack.

Jack clapped his hands over his mouth, staring wide eyed at the mess as Bunny reached over his shoulder and swiped at the dripping liquid, pulling his hand back to stare at it on his fingertips. He turned, glaring at Jack, and Jack swallowed thickly.

‘Fuck,’ he said, and pivoted on the ball of his foot, breaking for the window. He got maybe four, five steps before he was bear-hugged from behind, lifted off his feet. He squirmed, kicked, and he was suddenly falling, Bunny beneath him as they lost balance and crashed into a stand of drawers, paint and brushes flying everywhere, tipping an easel and canvas over and landing on it, streaking themselves and the canvas with colour. Bunny grappled with him, trying to get him to hold still as Jack continued to twist and squirm angrily, trying to break free as they slipped and slid through the paint.

Something had snapped in him, sending waves of unfocused fury through him: all of this trouble because of Bunny. All these doubts and guilt and questions and confusion, just because Bunny was the best sex he’d ever had, because he had maybe said a few sweet words to Jack a few times, or a lot of times, because he had told Jack about his past, about his family, because he had let him in when everyone else had just walked on by.

He didn’t push Jack for information about his life or what he did during the day if he wasn’t busking or where he went at night when he didn’t sleep at Bunny’s: he trusted Jack more than he realised, letting an almost-stranger wander around his life, around his friends lives. 

He was an idiot, such a fucking idiot, and he had made Jack into an idiot as well.

He didn’t know where the slap came from, didn’t realise he had raised his hand until it cracked off of Bunny’s jaw and they stopped, staring at each other and breathing heavily. A blue-white hand print painted Bunny’s cheek, and he slid his jaw back and forth, checking to make sure it was alright and stared at Jack with hard, dark eyes.

‘You done, Frostbi-?’

He slapped him again, not as hard, but it still took the artist by surprise. Then came the slap to his shoulder, his chest, his arms, until Jack was flailing wildly rather than coordinating any actual attack. The world went blurry as tears welled up in his eyes and poured down his cheeks, sobs bubbling up his throat as he pushed at Bunny weakly, his nails scratching his skin as he hit him wherever he could.

Bunny remained where he was, half sitting-half lying next to Jack, taking every hit in silence as the younger man in front of him cried brokenly.

One of Jack’s hits missed, and he tipped sideways, unable to catch himself in time: Bunny grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him in tight and hugged him close. Jack pushed at him weakly, thumping his chest with his fist and the next moment wrapping his arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. Bunny laid them down side by side awkwardly, covered in paint and lying on one of his canvas’s – he was lucky all the exhibition items were kept at the back of the apartment, tied up with linen and string to keep them safe.

He tucked Jack’s head under his chin, stroking his hair with paint streaked fingers – leaving green and blue and yellow through the strands.

‘Talk to me, Frostbite.’

Jack hiccupped a sob, shaking his head. ‘This was a mistake.’

Bunny’s heart suddenly constricted and his mouth went dry. ‘Coming here tonight, or...?’

He didn’t want to say the last part. If he said the last part, Jack might confirm it and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if that happened. He had had a feeling over the last week – no one just drops off the radar if they weren’t trying to tell someone something, and Jack had almost just confirmed it. Christ, he’d been going out of his mind the last week, unable to concentrate, wondering where Jack was, what he had done to push him away. He hadn’t wanted an argument when they next met, whenever that would’ve been, but Jack had picked one of the worst times to show up when Bunny was stressing out about more than just his art.

He exhaled, tightened his grip on Jack. ‘What was a mistake, Jack?’

Jack said nothing, his shoulders heaving as the tears kept flowing. He stuttered through several breaths, trying to even out his breathing before he spoke again. ‘You’re going to regret this. You said that the first... the first day. You’re going to regret ever doing this.’

Bunny frowned, kept stroking his hair soothingly. ‘Let me decide that, Frostbite.’

Jack shook his head again, shuddering through his sobs as he tried to calm himself. ‘Don’t-don’, d-d-,’ he gasped, unable to form a sentence and Bunny shushed him, hugging him tightly and murmuring soothingly to him. After what seemed like an eternity, Jack’s sobs abated and he remained clinging to Bunny silently as the Australian caressed his back and shoulders, pressed kisses against his temple and ear.

Jack sniffled, breathing deeply and buried his face in the crook of Bunny’s neck, face heating in embarrassment at his violent outburst. If he needed a sign that he was out of his depth, he was pretty sure the universe just sledge hammered him with it. He hiccupped around a breath, scrubbing his face against the material of Bunny’s t-shirt to wipe away the tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

Bunny half shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’

Jack half laughed. Bunny had no fucking idea.

‘Wanna talk to me about it?’

Jack shook his head.

‘Wanna hit me some more?’

Jack shook his head more firmly.

‘Wanna shower?’

‘I want you,’ Jack murmured.

‘You have me.’

Jack shook his head again. Bunny frowned, and shifted till Jack was on his back and he hovered over him. He kissed the crown of his head, stroking his shoulders and sides, any part of Jack he could reach to comfort him, let him know Bunny was there, that he would look after him. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed, okay, Frostbite? We’ll sort ourselves out in the morning-’

Jack pulled away from Bunny far enough to lean up and kiss him, desperate. He cupped his hand around the same cheek he had slapped earlier, mixing the painted handprint with more colours. Bunny kissed him back hungrily, his hands fisting in his hoodie material as it quickly became messy and shameless. Bunny braced himself over Jack with one hand, gripping the edge of the canvas to stop himself from slipping as he pressed himself closer to Jack, paint sticking their clothes together, smeared across their skin. He slipped his tongue past lips and teeth, moving against Jack’s as he eagerly reciprocated, his teeth skimming his bottom lip, nails digging into the skin on his neck and cheek.

Bunny pulled back for breath, staring down at the watery eyed young man. He reached up and swiped at the tear tracks under his eyes, brushing his thumb lightly over his cheek. Jack closed his eyes, turning his head towards the touch. ‘Shower, Frostbite.’

Jack nodded wordlessly, and braced himself to stand up. Bunny got to his feet quicker, and held out his hand to help Jack up. Once on his feet, Bunny picked him up wordlessly, bridal style. Jack said nothing, looping his arms around his neck and resting his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

Bunny shifted his grip, made sure he had a tight hold on Jack before he surveyed the damage around them. Most of the paint tubes would need replaced, the canvas was now unusable: swirls of blues and greens splattered over the canvas, orange and red streaked through it and hand prints dotted around what was left of the white space, smeared where they had slipped and grappled with each other.

Admittedly, it created an interesting pattern: a very vague, very abstract silhouette of the two of them embracing. If he hadn’t been half of the pair to create the mess, he wouldn’t have guessed how it had been created. Still, it was nice enough to look at.

He turned away from it, decided to clean up in the morning. If the paint ruined the wooden floors, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All that mattered was that he got himself and Jack cleaned up, and he headed up to the bathroom.

When they entered the bathroom, Jack allowed himself to be manhandled by Bunny, stripped of his clothes and eased into the shower under the heated stream of water. Bunny hopped in beside him, the small space becoming even smaller with the two of them occupying it. The artist grabbed a washcloth and soap, lathering it up with bubbles. He cleaned Jack’s face first, gentle around his eyes and ears and mouth, his free hand pushing the wet bangs back from his forehead so he can stare into his eyes. He followed the curve of Jack’s throat down to his clavicle, across one shoulder and then the other.

Jack gripped Bunny’s arms to steady himself, the muscles taut and hard beneath his skin, the dark brown tattoos around his arms and shoulder becoming visible again as the paint ran off him. He felt drained and exhausted and empty, Bunny’s ministrations allowing his mind something to focus on. The wash cloth travelled down his chest to his naval, leaving a trail of suds behind, the material soft and the strokes even softer, and when Bunny reached between his legs, Jack gasped quietly, his head falling back against the glass wall of the shower. Bunny kept the strokes impersonal, solely for cleaning and moved on, dropping to his knees to clean Jack’s legs and feet while he gripped Bunny’s shoulder’s for balance.

Colour swirled around the plughole, oil-slicks of watery paint leaving trails on the shower floor as Bunny finished cleaning both of them up, taking his time. Neither of them spoke throughout Bunny’s work, the quiet between them easy and comforting. It kept Jack’s mind quiet, thoughts that usually ran around his head, out of control, keeping him up late at night, scaring him, making him question himself were all surprisingly absent in Bunny’s silence, and he felt himself lulled into calm by it.

Eventually, Bunny dropped the washcloth and soap onto the holder, and wrapped his arms around Jack again. Jack leaned into the touch, stroking Bunny’s arms lightly with his fingertips. The heat of the shower stirred up warmth inside him, and he pressed himself closer to Bunny, kissed the centre of his chest.

Bunny dropped his hands low, sliding his hands over his hips and down to cup his arse, keeping his hands still there. Jack sighed, knowing Bunny’s hesitation.

‘I’m alright,’ he whispered.

‘No, you’re not,’ Bunny replied.

‘Maybe, but I do want this,’ Jack said, staring up at Bunny resolutely. He meant what he said earlier: he wanted Bunny, and right now he was pretty sure he needed him, needed his grounding presence, his strength, needed him to box Jack in so he knew he was where he was wanted, needed him to help Jack forget, till it seemed like they were the only two in the world. Bunny must’ve seen something in his face to reach a decision, because the next thing he knew Jack was hitched up against the glass wall of the shower, legs wrapped around Bunny’s hips and hands gripping the top of the shower stall, bracing himself. Bunny wrapped one hand around the back of Jack’s thigh, keeping him up as the other one dipped around the curve of his arse, fingers stroking down the dip between his cheeks.

He went slow, maddeningly so, touching and caressing Jack as if he had all the time in the world. He kissed his mouth and jaw and neck, mouthing his pulse point to distract him as he eased in one finger, then two, taking his time sliding in and out, feeling the way Jack shifted and tensed around him, how his heels dug into the small of his back and how his legs trembled around his hips. He listened to his mewls and whines, his pleas and the way his name sounded whispered in the thick steam of the enclosed space.

The third finger caused a choked cry to fall from Jack’s lips, his back arching away from the glass as pre come beaded at the tip of his hard, flushed cock. His head fell against the glass wall and he stared up at the ceiling through the steam, hot and breathless, felling like his was floating. He pleaded for Bunny to hurry up, and when Bunny said his name, told him to look at him, he did so and Bunny pulled his fingers away, gripped his cock in his fist and pressed close to Jack.

He felt the tip against him, meeting a moment of resistance before Bunny sank deep and he cried out, toes curling under as Bunny seated himself within Jack to the hilt. He gripped his thighs with both hands, his eyes never leaving Jack’s as he began to move, shifting and rolling his hips, making Jack gasp and moan, his knuckles turning white where they gripped the shower stall. A change in angle, a slight cant of his hips made Jack cry out, over and over with every thrust until he came with a sudden, pitched scream, the cooling water washing away his semen moments after it hit Bunny’s chest.

Bunny followed soon after, grunting his release and bracing himself against the wall with one forearm, resting his forehead against Jack’s. Jack dropped his hands from the stall edge, wrapped his arms around Bunny’s neck again, kissing him lightly and stroking the back of his neck. His skin felt electrified, attuned to the feel of Bunny’s against his even as the rest of the world began to fade away in a half-awake stupor.

He was vaguely aware of staying in the shower a little longer, eased down onto his feet to be cleaned once again, the water switched off after however long it was and he was carried out to the bedroom, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. Bunny patiently dried Jack, scrubbing his hair and carding his fingers through the damp white strands, pushing them away from his face. Jack looked up at him tiredly from where he sat on the bed, barely able to keep his eyes open. Bunny smiled down at him, kissed the crown of his head and pushed against his chest.

Jack fell back onto the soft mattress, shimmying up the bed lazily until he felt the pillows under his head and stopped, curling up on his side comfortably. He could hear Bunny moving about, too tired to open his eyes to watch his movements. He felt the mattress dip on one side, the quilt pulled out from underneath him and Bunny climbed into bed beside him, dragging the quilt over them both. He curled himself around Jack, pulled him close and tucking the quilt around him, cocooning him in its warmth. Jack murmured sleepily, and Bunny shushed him again, pressing feather light kisses on the crown of his head.

‘Sleep, Frostbite. Yer gonna be alright.’

Jack snorted: Bunny had no clue what he talking about, but sleep was irresistible, and Jack fell into the empty darkness of a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Try
> 
> 'Well, I'm having trouble with North and you're having trouble with Bunny, so I figured we could be troubled by our men together.'  
> 'Is everything... okay?'  
> 'Yep.' Tooth shrugged, in a "what can you do?" way. 'He just loves me.'


	5. Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just keep trying for the better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blergh, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth and I'm pretty sure it shows. -.-'
> 
> Song: Try by P!nk

Jack woke up tangled in the bed sheets and the sun blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with the heel of his hand, half-stretching as he rolled over and found the other side of the bed empty.

He blinked; sleep stuck his eyelids together and made his vision grainy. When it cleared, he saw Bunny was not there, and he recalled last night in vivid detail. He groaned quietly, rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His hand stung from when he had struck Bunny, aggravated by gripping the shower stall so tightly, and there was another, more pleasant ache below his waist.

He didn’t want to move. Sleep had done nothing for him, the same heavy tiredness from last night weighing on him. It left him feeling hollowed out and lethargic, a battery about to go flat. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, warm for early autumn, and cast everything in a bright golden hue. Metal clinked against ceramic down in the lounge area, paper rustled as pages were turned. Jack closed his eyes, exhaling: embarrassed, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and pushed it behind his head, resting on it.

He needed to get back to the kids, check up on them. He hated staying out all night, where he couldn’t look after them, despite how self sufficient they were. Jamie and his friends were good kids, and smart: Jack liked to imagine that he’d be able to get them some sort of proper schooling when they got out, but he knew the chance of that was slim to none – one look at the group of undernourished, raggedy kids and social services would be called and they’d be cast to the winds in every direction, never to be seen by each other again. Jack knew he was over his head when looking after seven kids, but at least he knew they’d be safe with him.

More ceramic clinking and paper rustling downstairs, and Jack sighed, pushing himself up and looking around. If he was going to talk to Bunny, he would at least be wearing pants when he did it.

He couldn’t find his pants.

He didn’t know what had happened to them, couldn’t remember where they’d been removed or if one of them had picked them up the night before. He hunted round for them, looking under the bed, around the room and in the bathroom, where rainbow stains still slicked the floor of the shower stall, eventually giving up. Instead he had grabbed a pair of Bunny’s sweats, pulling the drawstring as tight as he could and they still threatened to fall off his hips. The hems dragged the ground, and he rolled them up several times to make them more comfortable to walk around it. It wasn’t his first choice when facing Bunny after the night they had had, but he made do.

It was a surprise, then, to see Tooth instead curled up on the sofa, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. She was dressed in a soft purple turtleneck and loose black pants, a colourful scarf wrapped round her head, hiding all her hair. The mess he had caused last night had been cleaned up, except there were still dark stains on the wood where paint and water had soaked into the grain, and the splattered canvas was propped up against the wall near a window. He looked away from it, focused on Tooth, who looked up at him with a small smile.

‘Morning, sleepy head,’ she said, closing the paper and folding it in half, tossed it onto the coffee table so Jack could read the headline: “Winter Walks Free from Questioning” – a large, grainy picture of Winter smiling smugly at the camera and Jack’s gut twisted into knots. Winter never had only one job in progress, and there were always the business deals and transactions behind the scenes that had long been ongoing. Every couple of month’s police would bring in Winter or Rumpelstiltskin or someone high in the hierarchy in for questioning, but they walked free every time. It didn’t matter whether or not people knew who was pulling the strings with the majority of crime in the city, they were untouchable: everyone else could take the fall.

Tooth followed his line of sight, her nose wrinkling at the sight of Winter’s photo. ‘What a disgusting man, and no one does anything to stop him. If the police can’t do anything they should bring in someone who should.’

She shook her head, leaned back in her seat with a sigh and patted the seat next to her. Jack slid down onto the cushions beside her awkwardly, looking around for Bunny.

‘He’s not here,’ Tooth said, reading his mind. ‘He’s meeting with the curator today, to finalise all the details. He called me up to keep you company.’

‘What about Amita and North?’ Jack asked, and Tooth winced. ‘Tooth?’

‘North is taking care of Amita,’ she explained, rubbing one arm and shrugging. ‘And... Bunny told me about last night, though I’m guessing it was a very condensed version of the events last night.’

‘Oh.’ Jack scrubbed his head, embarrassed. ‘You didn’t have to take time away from your family, I didn’t mean to cause everyone trouble.’

‘I honestly don’t mind time away from everything right now,’ Tooth said with a sad little laugh. Jack’s brows knitted together in concern, confused.

‘Why, what’s wrong?’

Tooth shrugged. 'Well, I'm having trouble with North and you're having trouble with Bunny, so I figured we could be troubled by our men together.’

'Is everything... okay?'

'Yep.' Tooth shrugged again, in a "what can you do?" way. 'He just loves me.'

Jack ducked his head, rubbing at his chest. ‘I didn’t think that would be a problem.’

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ she said, laughing. She glanced at him out the corner of her eye. ‘Or maybe you do.’

‘Tooth...’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, waving him off. ‘You don’t have to talk about it. Bunny hates talking about what’s going on with him, too.’

‘Now,’ she continued, unfolding her legs and standing up with a flourish. ‘We need to get you some things for the exhibition. Bunny said your clothes were in the dryer, I folded them over there-’ she pointed to the kitchen counter ‘-get dressed and we’ll head out, we can stop off at Sandy’s and pick up the equipment Bunny needs replacing afterwards.’

‘Yeah, yeah, sure,’ Jack agreed, standing up alongside her. ‘Um, what do we need for the exhibition?’

Tooth smiled, a glint in her eye that made Jack a little apprehensive.

‘Why, a suit for you of course.’

* * *

The bell jingled at the sound of customers entering, and Nightlight looked up in time to see Jack bolt towards him and leap over the counter, squirreling underneath it.

'Nightlight,' he mock whispered. 'Nightlight, hide me!'

'Why?' Nightlight asked, crouching down and staring under the counter.

'He has issues with shopping.'

Nightlight jumped, cracking his head off the edge of the counter. He yelped, and Jack winced in sympathy as the two white haired young men pulled themselves out into the open, peering over the counter. Tooth stood on the other side of it, red faced and leaning on her arms as she tried to catch her breath. She smiled, dipping her head as if she was too tired to hold it up.

'I've not had to chase a man since I was your age, Jack,' she laughed, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

'Sharp dressed men do that for you, huh?' he joked, standing up. Nightlight looked him up and down, cocking an eyebrow. Jack caught his look, and gave him a light, playful nudge to the side.

'Well I was about an hour ago,' he explained, then pulled a face of mock horror, clinging to Nightlight. 'So. Many. Suits!'

'Oh shush, it wasn't too bad. You still have to pick it up this afternoon,' she said, straightening. She grimaced, pressing her hand to her side, under her armpit.

'Tooth? Tooth, are you alright?' Jack asked, all joking forgotten. Tooth smiled through her wince.

'Just a stitch, Jack,' she replied, dropping her hand away. She turned to Nightlight. 'Where's Sandy, Nightlight?'

'Through back,' he said. He turned and wandered over to the doorway through to the back room. 'Sandy?'

Sandy - the Sandman in Tooth's made up superhero group, and Mr Sleepy in the list of regulars Jack saw on his Saturdays - wandered through and waved at them. He signed to Tooth, too fast for Jack to even see the individual gestures. Tooth nodded her head.

'Yep, we're all good to go for the exhibition. We’re just here to pick up some supplies for Bunny and ask if you boys want to come for coffee with us. My treat.'

Sandy nodded after a moment, signing to Tooth again.

‘Yeah, I’ll just take everything just now for him,’ Tooth said. ‘I think two trips back and forth will be one too many for me.’

Sandy smiled at her and held up one finger, needing a minute to grab everything and close up. He and Nightlight disappeared around the shop, tidying things away and grabbing different bits and pieces for Bunny. Jack hopped over the counter, standing next to Tooth and leaned against the cool wooden edge.

'I can buy the coffee, Tooth, you've already done enough today,' he murmured. Tooth shook her head, waving him off.

'It's fine, Jack,' she said with a smile. 'I'll cover it.'

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, scratching his head.

'For what?' she asked, cocking her head to the side.

He shrugged, unsure how to voice everything he regretted. Tooth seemed to sense his struggle, and leaned her head against his shoulder. He tilted his head so it rested against hers, grateful she didn't push.

'We all do stupid things, Jack,' she said. 'It doesn't mean you're a bad person or that people won't forgive you.'

He huffed a small, disbelieving laugh but didn't say anything. Forgiveness was a long way off for Jack, no matter what he did.

Sandy and Nightlight popped up then and they straightened. Sandy held out a canvas bag to Tooth, and she slung it over her shoulder alongside her handbag.

'Ready, then?' Tooth asked. Sandy nodded, and they wandered out the store.

They didn’t go to Jack’s usual coffee shop – the one across the street where he busked – instead finding a smaller corner-street one with frilly curtains in the window and doilies on the tables. It was Sandy’s regular coffee shop, since they always had the cream puffs that he loved, and he’d walk there every Saturday from his home above the art store to grab his cream puff-and-coffee breakfast, which would take him past Jack.

Jack found it funny, how his regular’s all knew each other. The thought came to him again while they were sitting outside the coffee shop having drinks, the other three chatting between themselves as Jack sat back and watched them interact. The only one he hadn't come across was Mr Military in any relation to the group of friends. He had even asked, describing him to Bunny and had received a blank stare in return. He took another sip of coffee and glanced out into the street, people watching, and froze.

Across the street, a brown haired, brown eyed young man was sitting outside one of the many coffee shops that lined the street, typing away on his laptop. Jack wouldn’t be so worried about his presence, if he hadn’t recognised him. Jack-O was one of Winter’s boys, a computer genius who would be working on the money transfer rerouting system when it came to the auction. Jack set his cup down and stared at him in suspicion, worry unfurling in his gut. It was an unspoken rule that no one gets too close in public: getting seen interacting with each other made it more likely that people would notice and remember you, could point you out to authorities. With Jack’s white hair and pale skin, he already stood out from the crowd: anyone with him got noticed as well. He kept staring, waiting for Jack-O to look up, glance at him, something that would tell Jack Jack-O was tailing him.

‘Jack?’

‘Jack?’

‘Hey, Jack.’

Someone touched his shoulder, and he jumped, whipping his head round to face the group. Tooth, Sandy and Nightlight were looking at him in confusion, tinged with worry. Tooth’s hand rested on his shoulder.

‘You okay, Jack?’ she asked. Jack blinked, rubbing his eyes.

‘Yeah,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘Yeah, sorry, just zoned out.’

‘You sure?’ Tooth asked. Jack nodded, flashing her a dazzling smile. ‘Yeah, Tooth, I’m alright. I didn’t mean to worry you.’

‘Okay,’ she said. Jack picked up his coffee again, leaning forward to focus on the conversation.

‘So, Nightlight, someone mentioned you play the guitar as well?’

‘Oh, yeah, not very well, I mean, I’m learning,’ Nightlight stammered, blushing under the sudden attention. ‘I usually get tutorials from YouTube and stuff...’

‘That’s cool, I’m self taught as well,’ Jack said. ‘Want to hang out and play, sometime?’

‘Yeah! That’d be great,’ Nightlight said with a smile. ‘I haven’t played in a while, so I’m a bit rusty...’

‘That’s okay,’ Jack said. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Jack-O had upped and left, and he frowned, before turning back to the conversation with Nightlight. He’d find out what Jack-O had been up to later.

* * *

He got back to the hotel just after seven, weaving his way through the quieter streets now that rush hour was over and everyone had headed home for the night after spending the rest of the afternoon with Tooth back at Bunny's apartment after they had bid Sandy and Nightlight goodbye. Bunny had been there as well, much to the shared awkwardness of both of them, but they had inevitably gravitated towards each other, sitting close on the sofa, light touches to the arms and hands and knees. He'd put his suit up in Aster's closet for safe keeping, since they'd be heading to the exhibition-auction together, and they'd made small chat about their day.

Jack thought about the goodbye kiss they'd shared before he'd left, after he'd hugged Tooth and she had wandered through to the kitchen and pretended to be busy through there, for which he had been grateful. Bunny must've been thankful for the sort of privacy as well, because the kiss he'd given Jack had stolen his breath and left him weak kneed, made him feel like he was more important than air. He blushed as he made his way up the cracked stone steps to the hotel, tried to squash it down in his mind for the night.

He looked up, saw the lights were on, and when he checked, all of the kids were safe in the dining room hanging out together, sitting on the tables and floor more than the actual seats.

‘Heya,’ he greeted, leaning against the door jamb.

‘Jack!’

The kids rushed up to him, hugging him tight, and he hugged them in return. They had noticed the change in their already hectic lifestyle, Jack disappearing more often and leaving one of them in charge of the others, making sure they got fed and got enough sleep. The times he did manage to catch a break and stay at the hotel, like the past week – except for last night – he’d spent as much time with them as he could. There hadn’t been any more incidents with Winter, and things seemed quieter, but it was the quiet, rising tension when they got close to a job when everyone was on edge.

He finished giving them hugs, and straightened, pushing his sleeves up past his elbows. ‘Have you guys eaten yet?’

‘No, we were waiting for you to get back and finish your meeting,’ Claude said. Jack narrowed his eyes in confusion.

‘Meeting?’

‘Jack-O and Jacabob are in the kitchen,’ Cupcake said. ‘They said they wanted to chat about your upcoming work.’

‘Right,’ Jack said, frowning. He raised his hand towards them as he turned away and headed to the kitchen. ‘Stay here.’

He didn’t rush, didn’t make himself seem agitated or anxious, wandering through to the kitchens at the back of the hotel. He slipped inside, and shut the door tight behind him, catching sight of the two men instantly. Jacabob leaned against the counter, running pale, bony fingers through his inky black hair, while Jack-O sat on one of the stools at the island, typing on his laptop. The overhead lights made the scar on the right side of his face stand out starkly against his olive skin, the spider webbing lines branching out across his nose and down his jaw.

The two looked up as Jack walked in, and Jacabob grinned widely. ‘Alright, Jack, good day?’

‘It was fine,’ he said, clipped. He hated Jacabob, almost as much as he hated Rumpelstiltskin. They had the same dark eyes and pale skin, wide smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. ‘What are doing here?’

‘Just wanted to double check everything with you,’ Jack-O said, except his eyes flicked between Jacabob and Jack. Jacabob had a history of unprovoked violence; he got off on hurting others, and was unpredictable. Winter hated unpredictables – couldn’t trust them not to run to the cops at the opportune moment. Jack didn’t understand why he kept him around.

‘And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow because?’ Jack asked, raising his eyebrows. Jack-O winced, and Jack narrowed his eyes at him. ‘What?’

‘Jack-O thought you looked pretty cosy, with your new friends,’ Jacabob said with a grin, his grey lips dry and cracked. Jack wrinkled his nose in disgust, approaching the two of them and sending a warning look to Jack-O.

‘That’s not what I said,’ the brunet argued, sighing. He looked up at Jack. ‘I just said you’re getting real close to them. You know, gaining their trust, making things easier? That’s what I was talking about. Not that you were snuggling up to them.’

‘No?’ Jacabob snorted. ‘What were you saying about that photographer?’

Jack stiffened, gritting his teeth. Jack-O glanced between them again, halted typing.

‘I said she was pretty,’ he replied honestly. ‘I checked her background. She has quite a high standing in the art community as well, but not as influential as that Bunnymund guy. Winter decided not to pursue her as a target; she’s too close to the artist. It’d increase the chances of shit fucking up if we went after two similar targets.’

‘Pity,’ Jacabob said, scratching his neck. ‘Wouldn’t mind getting that job: if anyone had to snuggle up to her, at least send in someone who knew where to put their dick rather than –’

He didn’t finish as Jack’s fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his whole body to the side. Jack struck him again, to the back of his head while he was turned away, and again, sending him to the ground. Unable to reach without getting on the ground with him, Jack delivered a swift kick to his stomach and ribcage, pushing him onto his back as the older man choked and spluttered, dazed. Jack grabbed the collar of his plaid shirt, pulling it tight around his throat as he yanked him up and slammed his fist into his face. Blood spurted from his nose and his cracked lips, pouring down his face as he tried to wriggle out of Jack’s grip. Jack held on fast, his fist coming down over and over. He thought he heard someone shouting his name, but he couldn’t hear properly, like he was standing at the opposite end of the street from them. He saw red, his vision blinded by it.

Someone grabbed his arm, and he shoved them back, heard the clatter of the stools and banging of the few kitchen appliances they had. He turned back to Jacabob, raising his throbbing, bloodied fist to bring it down again. He felt like it fell into a rhythm, each crack of knuckles against skin matching the booming pulse of his heart, his blood roaring in his ears. He raised his fist again when the kitchen door crashed open behind him.

‘Jack!’

Jack whirled around at the sound of his name, shaking and panting as he stared at the group of kids beyond Jack-O, all of whom stared at him wide eyed and slack jawed. He looked back at Jacabob, limp in his grip and groaning in pain.

‘Jack...’

Gritting his teeth, he hissed out a breath, pulling Jacabob to his feet and slamming him against the wall.

‘Jack...’ Jack-O began

‘Shut the fuck up, Jack-O,’ Jack cut him off with a snarl before he turned back to Jacabob. He slammed him against the wall again till his head bounced off it with a crack. Despite being older than Jack, he wasn’t much taller, and had less muscle mass on him than the busker. He didn’t have anger-fuelled adrenaline to power through a fight either, so Jack had the advantage all round.

‘You think this is funny?’ he demanded. ‘You think this is a fucking game? You think any of you can show up while I’m on a fucking job and risk getting fucking caught all to ogle at some fucking chick? What if they had fucking seen you? What would you do then when they’d fucking recognised you at the fucking auction?’

‘Jack,’ Jack-O said again, and Jack whirled around to face him, eyes burning livid. Jack-O took a step back.

‘You want to tell Winter you put the job at risk? You want to tell him you decided to break the fucking rules for a close up of how a fucking pro works?’ he sneered. He pushed at Jacabob again, looking between him and Jack-O. He scoffed, a derisive laugh escaping his lips. ‘You think I got where I am today through luck? Through looks, because some dumb bastards likes ‘em pale and skinny and male? You dumb fucking bastards are still on the lower rungs cause you can’t do half the shit I can. You don’t have the talent it takes to wrap some rich fuck around your little finger by barely saying a fucking word.’

‘Okay, Jack,’ Jack-O said, holding his hands out placating. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I just got restless about the job; I wanted a closer look at the people who’d be there so I have a better idea of who’s who.’

‘That’s my area. Stick to your fucking laptop. And calm your shit,’ Jack said. ‘That’s how mistakes get made. And if this fucks up, you won’t have Winter and Stilzchen to deal with, you’ll have _me_ hounding you. This is _my_ big break, you think I’m gonna let anyone screw me over?’

‘No, Jack...’

‘You think I’m gonna let you off lightly the next time you decide to cock up?’

Jack-O glanced at Jacabob, the unspoken question of “this is lightly?” remaining unsaid. He shook his head. Jack looked back at Jacabob, who glared at him through the blood. Jack leaned in close, till he could smell the blood and the reek of his breath combined, and managed not to gag.

‘You ever, _ever_ talk to me about not knowing how to do my job, not knowing “where to stick it”,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ll cut yours off and make you choke on it. Let see then whether or not I know where to _stick it_! Clear?’

Jacabob just groaned in pain, closing his eyes and wincing.

‘Good,’ Jack said, patting his face and letting him drop, crumpling into a heap on the floor. He turned to Jack-O, jabbing a finger at him. ‘I will talk to you about the job tomorrow, alone. Do not fuck up again and I’ll let this whole thing go. Otherwise, Winter will be getting a very detailed report on what the members of my team are doing and how they are hindering the job. Are we clear?

‘Yeah, sure, Jack,’ Jack-O agreed, nodding. ‘No problem. Thanks.’

‘Fine,’ he said. He nodded to Jacabob. ‘Get him and get out of here.’

Jack-O didn’t need to be told twice, packing up his stuff and looping his bag over his shoulder. He grabbed Jacabob and hauled him to his feet, grimacing as the older man leaned on him and hurried out of the kitchen. Jack waited until he heard the front door of the hotel slam before he relaxed, exhaling a heavy, shaky breath. He looked down at his trembling hands, covered in blood and turned to the closest sink to clean them.

The pipes groaned and rattled as the water sputtered out of the rusted nozzle, splashing Jack’s hands. He scrubbed them clean, keeping his eyes on them instead of the kids who hung around the door. There was silence in the kitchen except for the running water, until Jack turned it off and grabbed a dishtowel to dry his hands. He hadn’t even broken the skin on his knuckles. He looked at the blood stains on the floor and the counters, pursing his lips in annoyance.

‘Jack?’ Jamie asked tentatively.

‘Can you guys hold on a little bit for dinner?’ Jack asked, looking over at Jamie. ‘I don’t want you guys getting any of this stuff on you.’

This stuff being blood, but no one commented on it. Jamie nodded, and the kids shuffled out, the door clanging shut behind them. Jack sighed, scrubbing his hand through his hair before he ducked under the sink and grabbed cleaning supplies, going to work.

He didn’t stop shaking for ages, the adrenaline still pumping through his blood vessels with every rapid-fire beat of his heart. He had wanted to kill Jacabob for what he said about Tooth, the thought of him anywhere near her made him wretch with disgust. He hadn’t even realised what he had been doing, didn’t think about how he’d need an explanation to justify his reaction that didn’t involve Tooth until he had stopped hitting Jacabob. He couldn’t let anyone know how much he cared about her, about Bunny, about all of them; it would be too dangerous to even tell the kids. He had said whatever had come to his mind, knowing he sounded like he meant it, enough to scare the shit out of Jack-O, and hopefully Jacabob for the time being.

He kept cleaning, not stopping at the counter or patch of floor that had the bloodstains, carried on until every surface and floor tile smelled of cleaning bleach. It made him feel lightheaded, the thick, bitter smell invading his nose. He threw open all the windows that weren’t boarded up, airing the kitchen and breathing in the fresh evening air. He stayed at the window for some time, letting the cool air chill his skin, the wind toying with strands of hair.

When he started to shiver, he stepped away and headed back through to the dining room where everyone sat scattered between the tables, more muted than they had been. He approached Jamie and Sophie at the closest table, and crouched down in front of them. They looked up at him in silence, worry in their large eyes.

‘Hey, guys,’ he said in a low voice, folding his arms across his knees and rubbing his arms. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah, we’re okay,’ Jamie said a bit too quickly. Jack sighed, scratching his hair.

‘Look, what happened back there... I’m sorry,’ he apologised, keeping his voice low and meeting Jamie’s gaze. He looked around at the others, who were watching him intently. He beckoned them all over, and they wandered over as a group, surrounding him.

He met each of their gazes in turn, clasping his hands together between his knees as he looked up at them. ‘What you saw... I shouldn’t have done or said that in front of you guys. I try to keep you guys away from some of the stuff that I have to do, but I want you to know that you _never_ have to be afraid of me. Never.’

‘You were scary,’ Sophie said, honest in the way young kids were.

‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘I know Soph, and sometimes, I will have to be scary. I will have to be scary to scare off some of the other scary things in the world, so they don’t hurt you, because that is the last thing I would ever, ever want to happen.’

‘I am sorry,’ he repeated. No one said anything for a few short moments, looking among themselves. Jack didn’t push them: they needed to understand in their own time that he was genuine in his apology and where he came from in his explanation. Then Sophie slid off her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. He sat back, hugged her close and stroked her hair. The others relaxed, sitting or crouching down beside him and leaning on him in some semblance of a hug. They stayed like that for some time, no one wanting to move, until Jack remembered they needed to eat, and set Sophie down.

‘Come on, guys, I’ll make dinner,’ he said, standing up as they all shifted away and pulled each other to their feet. ‘Chicken pasta okay?’

They nodded their agreement, heading through to the kitchen for Jack to make them dinner on the set of hotplates they used for cooking so the hotel’s power didn’t short out. He tried not to think about the auction in a week’s time, tried not to think about how long it would take after that to get the cash and the kids together to run. He’d always made sure that they were prepared to leave at any given time without looking too suspicious. Still he worried that something would go wrong, that he’d missed or forgotten something important, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter how much he tried. He still lay awake late into the night after everyone had gone to bed, the kids curled up around him in the room on the third floor they all shared, terrified he wouldn’t be able to save anyone, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: One Last Chance
> 
> 'You're going to tell me how you knew they were there and how you knew what they were up to,' Bunny said, his voice cold compared to the fury burning behind his eyes. 'You're going to tell me because I've got friends in there who were counting on me, and we had one last chance to fix this. So this is your last chance, too.'


End file.
